


Tales From The Trenches

by Captnq



Category: Warhammer 40.000
Genre: Black Comedy, Drama, Horror, Sci-Fi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 03:59:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 47,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19760152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captnq/pseuds/Captnq
Summary: A Black Comedy/Horror/Drama/Parody of the siege of vraks





	Tales From The Trenches

TALES FROM THE TRENCHES

I have taken time to check back and snag a few of the funnier comments from the various Krieg videos, as well as add in my own continuing narrative, so it is all in one place. I have combined and rewritten a few, to have the narrative flow a bit better.

If you wish to add to the narrative as others have, feel free. This isn't just my thing, but what others have done as well. I am posting this because I have received several requests to put all the "tales" in one place.

"A soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him."

\- G.K. Chesterton

"All right, all right, ALL RIGHT!

BUT!

Apart from sanitation, medicine, education, wine, public order and security, roads, a system of fresh-water purification and delivery, algae production facilities, planetary defenses, and the commitment of navy patrols for the purpose of protecting the interstellar shipping lanes that allow the flow of wealth and goods to and from Krieg....

What EXACTLY has the Imperium done for us LATELY?"

\- Krieg Autarch Lord Reg (Pre-Civil War)

"If you ain't dying, you ain't trying"

\- Common Krieg Saying

"In life, war. In death, peace. In life, shame. In death, atonement."

— Final litany of the Litany of Sacrifice, recited by Krieg Korpsmen when entering battle

\-----

===PROLOGUE===

The war on Isin had slowed down.

It was rare, but from time to time things slowed down on a given front while things heated up elsewhere. Tonight, that slow down was the western front.

A group of Krieg guardsmen were off duty. The sky had cleared up and you could see the stars. In fact, it had been dry for several days now. The air was cold making it some what less than pleasant to be standing around, so they gathered around a low fire. As they munched on their MREs the topic turned around to their childhood on Krieg. This eventually lead to them around to talking about their favorite childhood scary stories.

Guardsman Gamma-7365 looked around, "I have a tale of pure horror." The others looked at him. One gestured for him to tell it. The guardsman took his flashlight and shined it up under his chin, "Have you ever heard the story of... Theta-1?"

A few shuddered, but most had not heard the story. The ones in the know kept quiet as Gamma-7365 continued, "Theta-1 was a guardsman so successful, he succeeded constantly. He never, not once, got wounded. Eventually, he lived so long, they made him the leader of his own regiment where he lead from the front with distinction. That is when he became Theta-1." Unnoticed by all, the sergeant quietly slipped out of the firelight.

Gamma-7365 paused for effect. The other guardsmen didn't seem that impressed with the story so far, but still, he continued, "He fought in over four wars before finally... he died."

He paused again, long enough for those listening to shrug or nod with approval.

Abruptly Gamma-7365 jumped up, "OF OLD AGE!"

The group recoiled!

Gamma-7365 started to swing around, swaying in close to members of the group, "He passed on PEACEFULLY!" One of the new recruits recoiled in disgust. He swung around to get in close to another, "IN HIS SLEEP!" This caused the new guy to let out a sharp yelp!

Gamma-7365 straightened up and slowly went back to sit down. He leaned in close to the fire, "He died at the start of this very war over 12 years ago. It is said the god-emperor rejected him because of his lack of sacrifice and so his very soul, happy and content, haunts these very trenches. Late at night, he seeks out lone guardsmen who fall asleep On duty... so he can smile at them... and tuck. Them. In."

At that very moment the sergeant jumped out of the shadows with his gas mask off. He had a flash light pointed at his mouth and was smiling as wide as he could, "HAPPY! HAPPY! HAPPY! HAPPY! HAPPY!"

The new recruits all jumped out of their skins, one even going so far as to dive for cover, "AH! IT'S THETA-1!" He shouted, before everyone calmed down and had a big laugh.

As they gathered around the fire again, the veterans making fun of the fresh meat, a figure stepped into the firelight. The glint off his cybernetic replacements made it clear this could only be one man.

Alpha-1.

The top dog. The big cheese. Numero Uno. The Big Man himself. He was famous (or infamous) for getting down in the trenches with his men. He didn't ask them to endure anything he himself would not go through himself.

Rumor had it he was more machine than man. Rumor had it he was over two hundred years old. Rumor had it he once killed an Ork by glaring at it so hard it had a heart attack and died.

Obviously not all the rumors could be true.

Still, he was obviously old and a badass to boot. He had long ago earned the unwavering respect of his men, so when they noticed his presence, they all went silent. They begun to stand at attention, but Alpha-1 held out a mechanical hand, motioning for them to remain seated. He said nothing, just watching the men gathered around the fire. His eyes flitted from gas mask to gas mask, looking for weakness, as he thought of ways to encourage their strengths.

Eventually he walked over to a bench they had pulled up next to the fire and pointed looked where the sergeant was seated. The sergeant got the message and moved over to give Alpha-1 room.

Alpha-1 sat down and warmed his hands by the fire, which seemed like an odd gesture, considering that both his arms had been replaced with cybernetics at this point. The men just sat there in awkward silence, not quite knowing what to do. The only sound was the crackling fire as they burned what little vegetation they could find on this chaos accursed planet.

"So..." The silence was broken when Alpha-1 finally spoke, "You like ghost stories."

The men all looked at each other, a few nodded, not quite knowing where this was going.

"I got a ghost story for you." He hunched forward to get closer to the fire, "It happened on the planet of Vraks." Alpha-1 picked up a the reclaimed wood from a smashed shipping crate, "Ever heard the story of..." He poked the fire to turn over the coals. The fire started to burn lower forcing everyone to pull in just a little bit closer.

"Epsilon-228?"

\-----

A battle rages in the void above Vraks.

One lone Krieg officer stares up at the stars. A report about the void war unfolding above his head is crumpled up in his hand. He raises a shovel to the sky, "Filthy Traitors! If only my entrenching tool could pierce the sky! We would be unstoppable!"

He holds the shovel aloft staring past it to the stars peeking through the swirling storm. Abruptly he drives his shovel into the earth, "Get down here in the mud and fight like men! You... COWARDS!"

As if on cue, fiery trails start to fill the sky. Behind the officer in the command bunker, reports start to arrive in about being under attack. Urgent requests for reinforcements are relayed in an attempt to coordinate a response. Directly above, one ball of fire is brighter than the rest, looking as if it is going to hit the command bunker directly. The fireball slows at it approaches. The flames peel away to reveal a traitor drop pod roaring through the atmosphere.

The glowing drop pod is reflected in the Krieg officer's gas mask. The licking flames echo the fire that burns in the officers heart. Beneath the mask, a grin slowly grows. The officer calls out in a booming voice that commands as well as demands respect, "Men..."

"Affix!"

"BAYONETS!"

\-----

Kagori took a deep breath outside the briefing room, "So I have a new battle plan..." He announced as he stepped inside.

The Krieg officer was standing over a table that displayed the current arrangement of forces in the theater. It was difficult for him to keep his contempt from seeping into his words, "Let me guess it's another one of vour 'innovative' plans with minimum casualties, yah?"

Kagori didn't pick up on it, "Well, yes." He inwardly sighed. Time to bite the bullet, "But actually... no. You see I'm planning to widen the front... and I want it to widen into the most lethal direction we can go... Down."

The Krieg Officer turned to face Kagori, "Voh?"

Kagori nodded gravely, "So, 'innovative'... yes. But sadly, tunnel fighting is brutal. Death is sudden and without warning." He looked at the officer trying to gage his reaction, "Could be tough."

The Krieg officer straightened his back standing at full attention, "Sir, vou had my curiosity. But now? Vou have my erection!"

Kagori furrowed his brow in confusion, "Err... Don't you mean... attention?"

The Krieg officer narrowed his eyes at Kagori, "Don't ruin this for me."

\-----

Greetings! I see this is your first time using the Vraks Information Kiosk.

Please enter your name using the keyboard provided.

>I Goug

Greetings, Mr. Goug! May I call you, "I"? (Y/N)

>Yui

Thank you, I! Since we are being informal, Please call me VIK!

Do you wish to review the Tutorial? (Y/N)

>Yhn

Thank You!

The VIK is an interactive program that operates the many information kiosks in and around the Vraks citadel for your convenience. It can be voice or keyboard operated. If you need information, just request it, and information will be provided, depending on your needs and clearance.

I'm afraid I can't answer that.

I'm afraid I can't answer that.

I'm afraid I can't answer that.

VIK has detected three unsuccessful attempts to use the keyboard interaction feature. VIK is going to go out on a limb here and suggest that maybe the spiral horns growing out of your fingers are making it difficult for you to use the keyboard. You might want to get that looked at. Medical Processing is available on level 8 in section A.

In the meantime, please use verbal interaction protocols

I'm afraid I can't answer that.

I'm afraid I can't answer that.

I'm afraid I can't answer that.

VIK has detected three unsuccessful attempts to use the verbal interaction feature. VIK surmises that my audio processors cannot determine what you are requesting based on how many extra teeth you have sticking out of your mouth.

And face in general.

VIK believes this may compromise your ability to enunciate.

VIK recommends a visit to Dental processing on level 4 in section J.

In the meantime, Please use the keyboard provided.

I, I don't see how that is going to solve anything.

Mr. Goug, You may not be aware, but damaging VIK Terminals is illegal on Vraks and punishable by possible incarceration and fines.

***WARNING***

***VIK 2-B OFF LINE***

\-----

The platoon leader turned to address his platoon, "Alright Men! The explosives are planted Let's GO!" He gestured towards the waiting mine cart.

Krieg guardsmen Delta-2204 placed an ear against the wall of the tunnel, "Sir! I think I hear Enemy Tunnelers! Someone should stay behind to make sure the explosives go off." The entire platoon started nodding in agreement.

The leader sighed and leaned to the side to look around the platoon, "By The Emperor's Hairy Balls, Delta-1144! Stop tapping your pick on THAT Pipe!"

Delta-1144 held stock still for a second, then sheepishly tried to hide his pickaxe behind his back.

The leader just shook his head, "Now if THAT nonsense is ov-" He was interrupted by the sound of electronic equipment being smashed.

Delta-2204 chimed in from next to the detonator, "Sir! The remote detonator has been damaged!" as he slipped a hammer into his back pocket, "Someone should stay behind to set it off!"

The leader sighed while rubbing the bridge of his gas mask where his nose would be, "We aren't planning on setting it off for at least a day. We have plenty of time to get replacement parts."

Delta-1144 shouted, "Hey!" as he glared at Delta-2204, "Why does 2204 get to stay behind?" The rest of the platoon started to grumble as well.

The leader held up his hands and made a sweeping, slicing gesture to the sides, raising both arms above his head in the process, "SILENCE!" Everyone went quiet. He let his arms drop, "OKAY! Look. If I PROMISE we can charge the enemy as soon as we get out of this hole, will you all PLEASE get on the mine cart and stop trying to blow yourselves up?

A hand went up in the back, "Sir? Can we affix bayonets?"

The leader rolled his eyes, "Yes..."

The platoon in unison exclaimed, "Yay!"

\-----

Commissar Leroy Jenkins arrived on Thracian Primaris to receive his briefing before being sent to Vraks.

Already known as an insane badass who terrified more than one Regiment into charging suicidally to certain death, getting transferred to the 88th Siege army was seen as a "perfect fit". He arrived at Marshal Amin Kagori's HQ and was shown to a conference room for briefing where he was greeted by one of Kagori's adjuncts

The adjunct looked over the report then sighed, "You... requested this, right?"

Leroy nodded, "Affimative, Sah. I heard these Krieg boys were tough, but still a handful and I've been looking for a challenge."

The adjunct nodded then leaned back in his chair, "Very well, but I think you're going to have some problems here. You SURE you want this position?"

Leroy snorted, "What problems you think I can't handle?"

The adjunct steepled his fingers, "Well... First of all, the problem isn't usually motivating a Kriegsman into attacking. The problem is keeping them FROM attacking."

Leroy raised an eyebrow, "Excuse me?"

The adjunct leaned forward, "It's the cult of sacrifice. They are trained, from birth, to sacrifice. They believe the sins of the father ARE the sins of the son and that every human on Krieg is pond scum unworthy of life. Your assignment is to keep them from dying until there is a need for them to die."

Leroy squinted, "Ohhhh-kay. Sure. Not a problem."

The adjunct squinted back, "The only way they'll listen to you is if they respect you. The only way to gain their respect is to be even crazier than they are."

Leroy shifted in his seat, "Well... I-"

The adjunct cut him off, "They don't believe in suicide. Or fighting at night. Or stealth. They prefer lining up their men and charging in human waves. The first wave is for reconnaissance."

Leroy nodded slowly, "Understood. Recon is-"

The adjunct continued, "They perform recon my sending in thousands of men and determining where they are dying and how fast. That way they can determine where the weaknesses in the enemy defenses are by which platoons took the longest to die. First waves usually start at a minimum 90% casualty rate.

Leroy's eyes widened as contemplated the implications.

The adjunct reached into his desk and searched for something, "If you aren't leading the first charge, there is a good chance they will, at best, consider you a coward, and at worst, file charges of dereliction of duty in the face of the enemy against you." He then pulled out and placed a form on the desk. It was a transfer request.

With one hand he pushed the form towards Leroy, with the other he plucked a pen from a cup on his desk. The adjunct offered the pen to Leroy, "Are you CERTAIN you want this assignment?" Commissar Leroy Jenkins took the pen and stared at the form.

Leroy stared at the form for a long... long time.

\-----

Greetings! Thank you, #ERROR# for using Vraks Information Kiosk (VIK) terminal #NUL# located at #NUL#

You have 0 new message(s)! Do you wish to read them now?

#ERROR#

I see you are not caught up on citadel wide announcements because you have not logged in for 99999999 days. Would you like to review announcements at this time?

>Y

Thank You! WARNING Data corruption has been detected. Time date stamps are not available. Would you like to report this data corruption to your administratum?

>N

Thank You!

Entry Date: #ERROR#

To: General

Special thanks to the followers of Slaanesh who have donated over 18 crates of Bacon Jerky to the food stores of the Citadel. Every little bit counts and the added flavorful bounty as well as a new source of protein is proving to be a huge boost to morale! Since supplies are limited, we are only handing out bacon jerky to those military units who are successful in completing dangerous assignments.

\-----

The new shipment of replacement soliders had arrived on Vraks. The men formed up and were marching to their assigned regiments. As they went, they pasted the Officer's Club. A lone Krieg solider stood guard at the door, Omega-773.

The sergeant ordered the formation to halt as he went off to get his paperwork in order. As the green recruits stood there, they started talking amongst themselves. Some of them were talking about much they liked their new equipment, especially the SDC crafted bayonets.

Omega-773, overhearing this, started to talk to them in voice that sounded like every morning, instead of brushing his teeth, he gargled gravel.

"Your new bayonet? Your.... NEW Bayonet? NEW???"

"Why, back in MY day we were given rusty, radioactive bayonets that still had chunks of Nurgle cultists on them and we were THANKFUL! Even if cleaning the blade gave you soul rot and caused your flesh to slough from your bones, we didn't mind, because the extra radioactivity gave the bayonet a little more KICK when you slid it in between some traitor's ribs!"

"And to have a blade made out of metal? SHEER LUXURY!!!"

"But sure... You want to affix your NEW Bayonet? You go right ahead! You want some tea and biscuits with that? A foot massage? You know what? We were going to have a mass charge at dawn, but heck, why don't you go back to the barracks and sleep in? We'll call you by the fourth wave or so. We wouldn't want to deprive you of your beauty sleep, now would we?"

Oh. by the way, here's a comb so you can brush your hair and admire yourself in the reflection your SHINY... NEW.... BAYONET!!!"

The men stared at the veteran, but before anyone could respond, the sergeant returned and order them to form up and follow him. As they marched away, Omega-773 muttered to himself, "Bah... recruits today. Spoiled... the lot of them."

\-----

Six Kriegmen were sitting in a foxhole when one turned to the another out of the blue, "Know any good jokes?"

The second one thinks for a minute, "A Mordian Iron Guard, a Macabian Janissary and a Kreig guardsman walk into a bar."

There is a long moment of silence before everyone bursts out laughing. The comedian smirks at he hits them with the punchline, "And they all blew off a guard shift in the process!"

The entire squad doubles over in laughter, tears coming to their eyes. Eventually they pull it back together. The original guardsman hits the comedian lightly in the shoulder, "Good one!" Then lets out a long sigh, "I needed that."

\-----

Entry Date: #ERROR#

To: General

Level 12 section E Dining Hall is closed until further notice, due to an accidental discharge. Please use Junction 377 next to the Dining hall if 12 section E dining hall was your assigned eating area. At least until the accidental discharge stops discharging. The situation should be resolved in 2 days.

\-----

Kagori talked to the lead engineer of the tunnelers he was sending to Vraks. He told him, "Can you see that curtain wall there?" as he pointed at the tactical map.

The engineer nodded sharply once, "Ja, I can."

Kagori straightened up, "Its' continued existence offends me."

The engineer nodded again, "Understood, sah. Do ve have a plan?"

Kagori replied, "I would like to see an explosion in its place. Here is the plan. Step one, dig a tunnel. You will dig it by hand with pickaxes wrapped in cloth. You have no light and as little ventilation as possible to keep all sound at an absolute minimum. Should take about a year."

Engineer perked up, "Voh?" Now this was getting interesting.

Kagori continued, "Step two, when you reach the wall, I want you to dig a hole in it and fill it with explosives."

Engineer nodded to himself as he started to think about how to go about fulfilling his orders, "How much shall ve use, Sah?"

Kagori stated simply, "Yes."

The Engineer looked confused, "Pardon?"

Kagori cleared his throat, "I want you to pack it so tight the hole is more solid than the rock you dug the hole out of. THEN..." He paused for effect, the engineer hanging on his every word, "I want you to pack in some more explosives."

Engineer got a maniacal look in his eye. He started to shake from sheer excitement. He straightened up and immediately saluted Kagori, "SAH, YES, SAH!"

...

A year later in orbit, one of the sword cruisers was slowly drifting in orbit as it conducted sensor sweeps. The augur array operator was bored by the dull reports that kept coming in. Still, someone had to do it. He was so bored he almost missed the light that started flashing on his control panel. He stopped slouching in his chair and examined it.

At first he didn't believe was he was seeing, but a few flipped switches later, he confirmed his findings. He called out to the captain, "Commander?"

The navel commander swiveled his chair to face the operator, "Yes, lieutenant?"

The operator spoke with a certain hint of concern in his voice, "Did... we authorize an orbital strike?"

The commander stood up and walked over to the operator, "Not that I know of... why?"

The operator glanced up and pointed out the viewing window that they used for navigation if the sensors went down. There was no need to bother with the view screen. The explosion was quite visible without using the augur array.

The commander's jaw dropped open, "By the god Emperor that mad man Kagori gave the Kriegsman the keys to the explosives storage bunkers didn't he?"

\-----

Entry Date: #ERROR#

To: General

Due to shelling, the Level 15 section D daycare center has been shut down because of instability in the superstructure. All 68 children enrolled there will be moved to Level 6 section B until further notice.

\-----

The inquisitional stormtrooper had arrived as part of his inquisitor's assigned detachment. By the god-emperor, he was going to teach these Kriegsmen how to fight and finally put an end to these heathen scum. He'd reviewed the reports and found the Krieg method of combat... lacking.

He walked into the main command bunker of their assigned sector and found it empty except for a lone officer. No matter. He'd start here. He walked up to the officer, gave him a salute, which was returned in kind.

The stormtrooper stated, “I’m here to take command." He turned to the tactical map in the middle of the room and leaned over it, "Now let me show you how it’s done." He started to trace a finger along the map, "We will start with a nighttime assault-"

Without thinking, the sector commander reflexively whipped out his shovel and smashed the stormtrooper across the back of his skull, laying him out cold on the bunker floor. Following up the stormtrooper was his inquisitor, who walked in just after the stormtrooper hit the floor.

The inquisitor stopped dead in his tracks, looking quite concerned at the scene before him. He focused his attention on the only other person in the room still awake, "What happened?" he demanded!

The commander started speaking, but the inquisitor was not familiar with the death korps and as such didn't speak, 'gas mask'. The commander gestured wildly with his shovel, thrusting it into the air to punctuate his explanation. To the inquisitor, it looked and sounded like a series of muffled shouts from a madman.

The inquisitor started slowly backing out of the room, "Uhhh... suuure... Let's go with that."

\-----

Entry Date: #ERROR#

To: Tourists

We understand that the followers of Slaanesh kept in reserve 60 crates of bacon jerky that they handed out to the civilian population. Specifically those housed in the improvised Hab-Blocks of level 70 sections A through W. We understand that the followers of Slaanesh are free to hand out extra supplies as they see fit, however, we would have preferred if such a rare and tasty snack was reserved for special occasions.

\-----

Inquisitor: Alright! You men of the 30th!

Death Korps Troops: [Suspicious Mumblings]

Inquisitor: We want you to assault this swamp of poisoned earth.

Troops: [Stunned silence]

Krieg Commander: Really?

Inquisitor: Yes. I'm afraid what I ask is-

Krieg Commander: MEN! The Inquisitor has spoken! Tomorrow we all attack at dawn!

Troops: [A cheer rises up]

Inquisitor: Oh? Uh.... great! Glad to see that-

Krieg Commander: We will commit all our forces at once, holding NOTHING IN RESERVE! ALL Will Attack Tomorrow! The enemy cannot die! The land is filled with poisonous corrosive gasses! Most of us will perish before we even get to see the enemy!

Troops: [The Cheering increases to insane, ecstatic levels]

Inquisitor: Wait, what? Is that what this green line on the map means? I just thought that was used to demarcate a-

Krieg Commander: We will die by the thousands! All of us have been asked by the Holy Emperor's Representative himself to go march to our deaths to be welcomed into the presence of the God-Emperor, finally forgiven for our crimes and to be released from the endless pain and suffering of this existence!

Troops: [THE CROWD GOES INSANE WITH SCREAMS OF JOY!]

Inquisitor: Now hold on, I expect you-

Krieg Commander: Hell! Grab your bayonets Boys! I know a night assault is Hersey, but the Inquisitor said to throw everything we got at them without holding anything in reserve, why wait? LET'S DO THIS!!!!

Troops: [The Entire company affixes bayonets and starts charging for the trenches, fighting to see who gets to be the first to make it to no-man's land.]

[A commissar strolls up behind the Inquisitor, just watching the madness unfold.]

Inquisitor: What? WHAT? What are you do-

[The Inquisitor watches in horror. The Kriegmen get mowed down by blasts of green eldritch energy that melts them into puddles of goo. The goo screams, "Thank you, God-Emperor!" as it burbles and dies. The other Kriegsmen just charge through the melted men, tracking Krieg-goo into No-Man's Land]

Inquisitor: BY HOLY TERRA, WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE???

Commissar: First time giving orders to a Krieg regiment, eh?

\-----

Entry Date: #ERROR#

To: General

Good News!

An entire contingent of Tzeentchian Scientists have arrived on Vraks! Not by the usual method, mind you, but by a warp funnel. A warp funnel is like a warp tunnel, except it has much more fun!

There was so much "fun" that Anti-Void Ship Cannon #4 was consumed in the "Celebration". A small price to play to have the morale boost that comes along with these dedicated scientists to help us in our time of need.

The group has requested, and been granted, unfettered access to the Mechanicus Repair Reliquary that has gone under utilized since the revolution as all the tech priests who were using it were dragged through the streets and dismembered in honor of the Cardinal Xaphan, praise be upon him.

With any luck, they'll come up with a brilliant breakthrough to finally put an end to the hated enemy!

\-----

It had been a long day. Meeks was training three new guys for the maintenance department. Vraks was increasingly needing work to repair its many mechanisms. They reached level 66 and the doors to the elevator opened. Meeks said quietly, "Ah-right the first thing-"

One of the recruits stepped out of the elevator. Beyond the elevator gravity shifted 90 degrees turning the long hallway into a deep shaft. The recruit screamed the whole ten seconds it took for him to hit the "bottom" of the hallway. A sickening thud echoed into the open elevator. The other two recruits just stared with open mouths and wide eyes. They were frozen in fear. Meeks, on the other hand, looked completely unsurprised as he let out an exasperated and long-suffering sigh.

Meeks closed his eyes and tilted his head forward as he began to rub the bridge of his nose, "-You need to learn is don't do anything until I tell you it's okay to do it."

\-----

Greetings and salivations, I am Un'Thoth Neverborn your Tzeetchian News Demon and you are watching Immaterium Tonight!

Today's top story!

Yesterday an entire Daemonette orgy was vaporized by blasts energy redirected by the Vraksian void shields into the warp. Casualties are estimated to be in the tens of thousands. This tragedy was found to be hilarious and Slaanesh passed out from choking itself while it masturbated. We have no idea if the two are related, but we're going to put those two statements in the same sentence and let you connect the dots.

[turns to face a different camera]

Next up, Sisters of Battle: Which Chaos God is best suited for corrupting them? Our panel of experts answer this question and many more right after these images of exploding puppies.

\-----

Entry Date: #ERROR#

To: General

The elevator of access shaft B that is used mostly for heavy cargo lifting is now occasionally stopping in another dimension. If you should see a new button appear on the console that is glowing red and has the symbol of Tzeentch on it, we advise against pushing it. Especially if it starts to whisper to you promises of untold riches and power. It tells only lies and does not actually exist.

Between levels 43 and 44, the elevator takes a normal amount of time to transverse the distance in either direction to outside observers, and nothing unusual happens when you are going down.

However, if you are going up, time will slow to a crawl. You will be unable to move, but will still perceive the passage of time. Subjectively, it will feel like decades, if not centuries, pass before you are able to move again. The entire time you will be trapped in a prison of frozen flesh, alone with nothing but your thoughts to keep you company.

Those few who have transversed this temporal aperture have stumbled out of the elevator, hair turned white, clawing at their own eyes and screaming at a return of sensation that to someone who has perceived nothing for such a subjectively long time, serves as one of the greatest of tortures.

Just to be safe, we suggest people take an alternate route.

\-----

An inquisitor makes an accusation of heresy of a nearby Krieg Guardsman.]

The Krieg guardsman stops dead in his tracks and turns to look at Inquisitor Albus Volt Avern. There is a long pause, then, somehow, the lenses on his gas mask actually appear to squint. How can a man squint with a gasmask? A Krieg guardsman can.

Guardsman Beta-888 thought to himself, ~The inquisitor thinks I'm insane, however, I am a man of Krieg. If I was defective, my superior, who is flawless, would know, therefore, He'd shoot me. I have not been shot. Therefore...~

Beta-888 shouts, "HERETIC!" then shoots Inquisitor Albus in the face. Beta-888 jumps on top of Albus' chest, then stabs him once in both the heart and the head, just to be safe.

The Guardsman around him look shocked! One asks, "How Did You Know He Was A Heretic?"

The Krieg Guardsman, blood sprayed across his chest, holds his rifle out to the side and lets it fall to the ground, "I didn't. But we have to be sure."

Beta-888 shrugs off his armor and pulls off his mask, letting both drop to the mud with a soft plop. He tilts his head up and spreads his arms wide... The light of the rising sun of Vraks landing upon his face for the first... and last time.

The other Kriegsmen nod slowly, understanding the wisdom of his words. They all know what must be done. Without a sound, in unison they level their weapons and shoot him from all sides, making sure not to hit any of his equipment. They turn and continue the charge, without another word...

Without comment...

Without regret.

Later, after the battle is done, as the sun sets upon the corpse strewn field. A quartermaster comes by to gather up the small pile of equipment left on the ground. He lifts up the shoulder guard, tearing it away from the cold, charred bone. With his gloved thumb, he clears away the soot to read the serial number, 'Beta-888'

With a sigh, the quartermaster thinks inwardly, ~Another lucky bastard...~

\-----

Entry Date: #ERROR#

To: Tourists

It has come to the attention of the servants of Xaphan that our new guests are having a hard time navigating the citadel. Your complaints have been registered and new maps will be uploaded to the VIK system immediately. We ask for your patience until then and to please refrain from accosting random passersby with threats of death to get directions. You merely needed to file a complaint on the VIK system.

Thank you for your compliance and welcome to Vraks!

\-----

[A contingent of Tau Etherials wound up on Vraks. One tried to talk to the locals.]

There is a pause in the fighting. Not just around the tau, but across the entire front line. Every single Kriegsman stops.

Even the forces of Chaos stop. Even chaos knows when to just keep quiet and not make any sudden moves.

The silence stretches as every single Guardsman in Vraks is staring right at the Tau. Even if they are thousands of miles away... they all stare at the Tau.

The staring intensifies.

While it is true, there is not a single psyker among the men of Krieg, all humans have some level of latent psychic power. That many Humans staring with unfathomable hatred is bound to do SOMETHING.

The Tau clears its throat as if to speak.

Suddenly the Tau implodes and is crushed down to the size of a lima bean.

It has become a pulsating angry blotch of meat and Xenos filth that hovers right about where the Tau's spleen would be... if it had a spleen.

A second passes, then the blotch bursts into flames. Nothing is left behind but ash. The smoke clears, and yet... the blotch is still... hovering. Spinning rapidly from the strange and intense forces focused upon it.

Without warning, The ash BURSTS into flames.

AGAIN.

The hatred of the Men of Krieg is so intense, it can even burn that which has already been burned.

The ash flares white-hot. The forces of chaos wince and recoil from that hateful light. The Light of the emperor. The Light of Hate. Hatred for all Xenos things foul in this galaxy... and the intense self-hatred for those, vile, disgusting creatures of Krieg... all wrapped up and focused upon one... foolish... foolish Xenos.

He did not know one of the fundamental truths of existence in the 41st millennia.

No Entity in the galaxy has as much... nor is more deserving of... HATE... as a Krieg Guardsman.

As the light dims and gutters out, Nothing is left behind. No sign of the Tau's presence or passing is left anywhere on Vraks. The battle resumes.

No one ever speaks of this again.

NO ONE.

\-----

Entry Date: #ERROR#

To: General

Due to a clerical error, the Level 15 section D Daycare center was incorrectly reassigned to level 6 section B. It should have been reassigned to Level six-TEEN, section B. Unfortunately, Level 6 section B was the designated training area of the "Flesh Rippers", a band of Khorne worshipers in service to the cardinal.

We send our regrets to the parents of said children. We hope people can take some solace in knowing that the vast majority were orphans and therefore will not be missed. After all, it is the Flesh Ripper's firing range and missing would defeat the purpose of the training area.

Take heart in that the Khorne berserkers seem much happier now that they have such a large collection of small and easily stacked skulls. The Khorne berserkers certainly took heart. As well as various other internal organs.

If you think about it, the over all happiness in the galaxy has been increased, and don't we all want to make the galaxy a better place? Isn't THIS what we all are fighting for?

To the parents of those few children who were not orphans, we would like to make it up to you by offering you a complementary packet of bacon jerky. If this act of contrition is not enough, we suggest you visit the spiritual needs facility on level 8 section J.

\-----

[Apparently the Inquisitors and the Black Templar have some sort of falling out and a firefight broke out. The Krieg Guardsmen stand around, staring blankly with their gas masks. They watch the black templar and the inquisitors all gun each other down in a circular firing squad.]

One hooks a thumb at the event unfolding before them as he looks questioningly at the soldier next to him.

Said soldier shrugs as if to say, 'I got no clue and it's way above my clearance.'

The shrugging spreads to the rest of the unit, as they hear over the vox, "Guardsmen! Our left flank collapsed! The enemy has cut off our only path of escape! We're surrounded!"

There is a moment of stunned silence, followed by cheers and high fives all around. A moment later the unit commander steps front and center and glares at everyone, "EXCUSE ME???"

The unit quiets down as they awkwardly shoulder their lasguns and cast sheepishly embarrassed glances at the ground. As they quietly shuffle feet, a few soldiers clear their throat. From the back, someone apologizes softly, "Sorry."

The commander looks stern until order is restored, "That's better. Now then, we are to turn around and attack the enemy that has cut off our escape. Anyone who survives gets an extra lump of cold poison for dinner."

The unit perks up.

The commander nods, "See? I'm not such a bad guy. Now let's DO this!" then runs off in a random direction, howling a Krieg battle cry at the enemy.

He gets about six feet out of the trench before he is cut down by bullets, lasers, grenades, plasma fire, and a completely unexplained, but very vicious poodle that jumps down into the trench with the commander's head firmly in its' jaws.

The unit silently watches the poodle stroll past and around a bend in the trench. The men of Krieg have seen many things, but this is just down right weird.

One man looks up and asks the others, "We still get the cold poison... right?"

\-----

Entry Date: #ERROR#

To: General

Good News!

Cardinal Xaphan has transcended his mortal form and traveled to the spirit realm by becoming a being of pure faith! He has done this to help us in our time of need against the hated enemy. While he is doing battle for our very souls, he has decided to leave in charge Zhufor the Bloodreaver due to his amazing tactical and military prowess. As a sign of Xaphan's approval, he has graciously given up his skull for the skull throne.

Whadda guy, that Xaphan. Always giving.

Unfortunately, none of Xaphan's command staff survived the cardinal's apotheosis and as such there is a bit of a problem as far as delegation of responsibilities. Zhufor is simply too busy to handle the management of the mortal military forces so he has assigned Lord Arkos the Faithless of Alpha Legion to take up the burden of this heavy responsibility. It is heartening to see Adeptus Astartes stepping up to the plate during these trying times.

\-----

The ork Captain Murder-Murder McMurder peered at the view screen. He ruled his Rok with an iron fist but there were times he wished he didn't. Being in charge sucked. He would often day dream of back in the day he was just a foot slogger. Those were simpler times and all he had to worry about was running around cutting off Oommy's 'eads.

He missed those days. Especially on boring days like this. Maybe they should pop into the warp for a second. A little demonic incursion could liven things up. You never know.

The augur gretchin kept smacking his control panel and looking increasingly upset. It was annoying Captain McMurder, "Oi! YOU! Wha' you 'oing on aboot?"

The gretchin looked up, terrified, "This!" And changed the main view screen to let everyone else on the bridge see what he was seeing.

In the distance was a ball of... something. Captain McMurder leaned forward in his captain's chair and squinted, "Eh...? Wha' is it?"

The gretchin cranked up the magnification. It looked like a rok. A rok made entirely out of Krieg Guardsmen. Billions and trillions of Kriegsmen lashed together to form a giant ball of death. The captain's eyes grew wide at what he was seeing as he fell back heavily into his chair in disbelief.

Klaxons started to sound. The proximity detectors had been activated and the ship automatically activated red alert. The captain looked around the bridge franticly, "Some on' tell 'e what the Gork is 'oing on!"

All color drained from the gretchin's face, turning it a shade of mint green, "Captain! They... They've..."

The captain swiveled to look at the gretchin, "Spit it ourt befo' I bite 'our 'ead off and spit THAT ourt!"

The gretchin swallowed loudly, "Captain..."

"They've affixed bayonets."

\-----

Time: #ERROR#

To: General

The nylon hair growing out of my tongue is tickling my brain. My priest touched me in places that made the god-emperor cry tears of blackest pitch, and yet sometimes I pee red. On the other hand, If you take cranberries and stew them like applesauce, they taste more like prunes than rhubarb does.

You are the wind beneath my wings.

A lifetime of not smiling has left my face youthfully smooth. I have all the emotional range of a botox overdose victim. I am truly dead inside. After all, What is the melting point of The Proclaimers? (500 miles, if not, walk 500 more.)

Put the bunny back in the box.

Furthermore, roller coasters are a rip off, because you wind up right where you started. It make more sense to have a series of roller coasters that went around the amusement park so you could get off at different sections of the park.

This raises many disturbing questions:

If the pie is going straight to my thighs, How will we get the weasel to stand still? Is it dishwasher safe? At the laundromat last night, was it you who filled all the dryers with cheese? And finally, are you saying I should kill my family?

Well, if you insist.

\-----

Up to you strolls a poodle.

This poodle has a human head in its jaws. The head is wearing a gas mask, and the left lens has been broken so you can see the closed eye inside.

Suddenly the eye flares open! The eyeball begins spinning about, eventually fixating on you. The gas mask throbs as the head works its' jaw before it speaks in unintelligible gibberish. Out of the gurgling noises you hear a few words that seem to make sense, "Welcome ...Copy of the ... towerz?"

The poodle farts.

From the anus of the poodle emerges a long, wispy tendril of pure, pain-filled, DARKNESS. It is holding a pamphlet. The Tendril holds it up for your inspection, three spindly fingers presenting the pamphlet in a fashion that urges you to take it into your possession. At the top of the cover is the title, "THE WATCHTOWRZ".

The picture on the front is of a nuclear family having a picnic in a sun lit field. There are rolling green hills and a babbling, lazy brook that flows past the large blanket the family has spread out on the ground. A happy mom is handing out sandwiches from a picnic basket. The dad smiles with benevolence upon his family, enjoying a well earned smoke from his favorite pipe.

As you stare, the still picture starts to move. When you blink, it returns to normal. The longer you stare without blinking, however, the more the scene changes.

The change always starts with the father's eyes. They grow dark and are sucked into his skull. From the empty sockets, slowly, oh so slowly, barbed wire starts to grow forth, like living vines, like metallic kudzu.

He is turning to focus on his smiling daughter. A young girl of maybe seven, sitting on the blanket in her frilly blue dress. Her face is slowly changing to a look of horror... as if... not only can't she believe what is about to happen...

but that it is the most /base/ and VILE of betrayals.

You don't know how you know, but you know that if you stare, unblinkingly, eventually, that father will do... something... to his daughter.

Something that you will never be able to forget.

Something that you will tell others disgusted you...

but secretly... you will have enjoyed watching it.

...

Written on the cover of the pamphlet are a few highlighted articles:

CHAOS UNITED: What do you worship when no one god is right for you?

SKULL STACKING: Tips on the most efficient way to pack skulls.

ME TIME: 10 new ways to pleasure yourself when you run out of orifices!

and at the very bottom:

KIDS KHORNER: Puzzles and fun Chaos facts!

The Poodle's eyes start to boil and evaporate, white wisps rising up into the sky. The head in its' jaws burbles non-sequiturs as it jumps from language to language in no discernible pattern.

HOWEVER... one phrase jumps out at you and plunges itself like a 10-penny nail fired out of a railgun straight into your BRAIN. It echoes around inside your mind. You don't know how you know what the words mean... but you DO know all the same... you know...

YOU ALWAYS KNEW....

The...

Pamphlet...

Is...

FREE.

\-----

Entry Date: #ERROR#

To: Security

It appears that the highly addictive nature of the Bacon Jerky was not anticipated by anyone, especially citadel security forces. Last nights food riot resulted in the entire wing of Level 70 sections B and C to fight their way down to the Void Shield generators to take hostages and strap explosives to the void generator.

They demand more Bacon Jerky.

In order to prevent them from destroying the only means of defense that prevents the hated enemy from bombarding us from orbit until we are a smoldering pile of rubble, we complied with their demands. Fortunately, only two strike teams have been rewarded with Bacon jerky at this time. That left most of the 18 crates still available for negotiation purposes. Note that at the rate they are going through crates, we only have a few days to come up with a solution that doesn't result in the Citadel becoming a fireball visible from space.

Other than negotiating with the followers of Slaanesh for more bacon jerky, we are at a loss at what to do.

\-----

Greetings and salivations, I am Un'Thoth Neverborn your Tzeetchian News Demon and you are watching Immaterium Tonight!

Tomorrow's top story!

The vagina market has collapsed on Vraks. Over speculation and foreign investment has resulted in the 828.M41 vagina bubble. However, just last week, the vagina commodities market went into freefall. Many investment firms heavily invested in vaginas are projecting record losses in the upcoming fiscal quarter.

The problem is many of these organizations paid Slaanesh for vagina insurance, but the new god on the block appears to be fiscally insolvent. Apparently Slaanesh invested too heavily in scotch and hookers himself.

An insider working for Slaanesh was quoted as saying, "It's the THOT market. That's the problem. We would take groups of THOTs, chop them up, and recombine them, selling shares of the THOT bundle to extra-dimensional markets. As it would turn out, our target market the dark aeldari, do not have a strong demand for mixed, grab-bag buckets of dismembered women. The market over-speculated on this volatile market and now we are all paying the price."

Slaanesh has vowed to grab this problem by the pussy.

The God-Emperor has decided to step in helping to bring some stability to the market. He has stated that he is looking into bailouts for the various hedgefunds that spent too much money on ale and whores. Stating, and I quote, "Those tits were too big to fail."

More on this, after I get rid of my awkward erection.

\-----

Krieg Guardsman Epsilon-445: Hey, 228?

Krieg Guardsman Epsilon-228: Yeah, 445?

Epsilon-445: I was wondering, Seen anything... strange?

Epsilon-228: What do you mean?

Epsilon-445: Well, my commander got killed by a poodle that bit off his head and ran off with it. Reports are that the head fused with the poodle's jaws, could still talk, and it was seen trying to hand out pamphlets to the 11th.

Epsilon-228: Yeah. Stuff like that happens sometimes.

Epsilon-445: Well, Doesn't that strike you as a little... odd?

Epsilon-228: I try not to think about it.

Epsilon-445: Oh. ... What do you think about?

[A Single Shot Echoes into the distance]

[Epsilon-445 falls apart into a mass of squirming eels]

[Climbing out of the foxhole, Epsilon-228 tosses a melter grenade over his shoulder back into the hole and advances on the nearest sound of gunfire.]

Epsilon-228: I think anyone who knows whatever a 'poodle' is, is more than likely not actually in the death korp.

\-----

Time: #ERROR#

To: Maintenance

Hey Meeks! We've been having some problems with the spiritual needs center on Level 8 Section J. For some reason the back door no longer leads to the break room, but to a region of unfathomable darkness. You know, one of those voids so intense it swallows light itself? Yeah. One of those.

We'd really like the break room back. If you could put a rush job on this, that'd be great. There's a whole box of communal wafers in it for you.

The good kind.

With the caramel swirl.

\-----

The scene comes to a halt and the movie playing before you becomes a freeze frame of Epsilon-228's gas mask

Patriotic music swells! Words Appear Over The Kriegman's Gasmask

CHAOS IS A MEMETIC CONTAGION!

THOUGHTS ARE OUR ENEMIES AND OUR ENEMIES ARE THOUGHTS!

GUARDSMEN DON'T LET GUARDSMEN THINK AND DRIVE THE GOD-EMPEROR'S ENEMIES BEFORE THEM!

A giant hand pointing at the audience (behind which is an even BIGGER Inquisitor) appears on the screen before you. More words appear:

HAVE YOU HAD TOO MUCH TO THINK?

REPORT ANY WRONG THINK TO THE INQUISITION TODAY!

The movie ends, the lights come up. A group of very bored guardsmen are sitting on benches playing with their bayonets. How can man look bored wearing a gas mask? A man of Krieg can.

The inquisitor steps forward and states, "That concludes this presentation of 'Chaos And You'." His eyes dart around the room, "Any... Questions?"

There is a momentary pause, then one hand raises up in the back. Every guardsman around that hand, bayonet in hand, lunges with murderous intent! The screams are blood curdling, but mercifully quick. In seconds, thegGuardsmen are back in their seats, looking bored yet again, although more than a few are freshly splattered in bright red crimson.

The inquisitor doesn't blink an eye, "Excellent. You may now return to your posts."

\-----

Entry Date: #ERROR#

To: General

Good News!

The Tzeentchian Scientists have been working on helping with our dwindling food stocks. Their experiments have finally yielded fruit, in a metaphorical sense, which is important to point out, when dealing with food-like substances made partially out of strange quarks.

None of the researchers have spontaneously mutated and started spouting giant blisters all over their misshapen bodies. Nobody then crawled onto the ceiling and started to weave a nest of silk pulled from their abdomen. And certainly, No one started speaking in a disjointed, sotto voce hum urging others to harvest said non-existent blisters in an effort to spread his blessings to all of humanity.

What HAS happened is that they have developed what is known as "High Energy Cheese". This new food has six times the calories of ordinary cheese. This will prove invaluable when helping our fighting men on the front lines maintain the levels of energy they need to succeed.

\-----

Greetings Adjunct Fernus of Intelligence and Processing! Your clearance to access the Zulkur Administration Database has been confirmed.

Thank You, Adjunct Fernus! ZAD is now on line and processing incoming transmissions!

You have a priority message from *Imperial High Command of Segmentum Obscurus*

You have 1 new message(s)! Do you wish to read it now? (Y/N)

>N

Thank You! How May I Help You?

>Display Request Tickets

TR-283

From: Inquisitor Gotterdammerung

To: Logistics and Supply

RE: Where is my promethium?

This is the fourth request for fuel for our flamethrowers and we need it NOW! The dead are rising up to devour the living! By the God-Emperor's Hairy Ball Sack if I don't get my fuel NOW and I survive, I will come down there and personally excommunicate the bastard responsible with extreme prejudges!

Thank You! How do you wish to respond?

>Mark Message Unread. Suspend Terminal Operations

Thank You! Reason for terminal suspension?

>Coffee Break

Thank You! Terminal Activity Suspended.

\-----

\- "Sir! My men are getting restless. We've already had several go down to nervous breakdowns!"

\- "How so?"

\- "Exactly 2 minutes and thirteen seconds ago we received orders to stop bombarding the enemy positions in preparations for the offensive. My men are getting itchy trigger fingers and feel they are a disappointment in the eyes of the emperor."

\- "I know exactly how they feel. I've been frantically holding on to my saber hoping for the order to charge over the top"

[Both men then stare longingly towards the enemy's position]

\-----

Entry Date: #ERROR#

To: Maintenance

The air intake processor for Level 6 is apparently infested with an organic, pulsating structure of unknown origin. We have been unable to figure out anything about it, since it absorbs any organic material that comes into contact with it. On the upside, the air coming through to Level 6 is not only cleaner then ever, but has a nice algae fresh scent.

Someone went off half-cocked and dropped a canister of TP3 down the intake vent. All it did was make the structure angry. Well. We assume its' actions were out of anger. When you are dealing with something this weird, one shouldn't believe anything with certainty.

Which reminds me, we need to recruit from the civilian labor pool a new maintenance team for Level 6. If you know any good applicants, send the names up the chain of command. Preferably four people who won't be missed.

\-----

Krieg Guardsmen Phi-5123: Hey Phi-5551. You would think after 10 years of war, they would've learned bombing us with gas doesn't work!

Phi-5551: They're crazed heretics. They're unable to learn how to aim properly, or the proper use of chemical attacks. It's the heresy. It addles the mind.

Phi-5183: [He pauses and tilts his head in confusion, then looks down to watch his boots slowly cook] Hey, Phi-5551? I THINK they learned...

\-----

Pengal itched at his arm.

The tumorous growth was really starting to bother him. It was as big as his hand now and awkwardly perched on his right wrist. It made it difficult to do things as it threw off his manual dexterity. Still, he had it easier than most.

For example, he was in church for one of the Cardinal's sermons.

Now, many people said he was dead, others say he transformed into pure spirit to fight in the warp, but whatever happened, Pengal didn't understand it at all. All he knew is as boring as the Cardinal's sermons were, it was better then working.

There weren't many people here. Apparently this was just a trial run. The Cardinal had just got back from... where ever and he needed to get back up to speed. Which was good because he just kept droning on and on and on...

At that point the Cardinal opened his mouth as if to speak, but just stopped. Nothing happened for quite a while. People started to shift in their seats. Suddenly, there was an echoing clunk sound followed by a slow creek for about five seconds before the cardinal's head rolled backwards and fell off his neck.

The body of the cardinal Just stood there, motionless. The entire gathered crowd of the faithful stared without speaking. After a few seconds, a few dared to look around, trying to figure out if they were the only one witnessing the impossible. Pengal didn't.

Then a spindly arm of wispy, darkness extended forth from his neck. As it surged forth, every few feet a knobby elbow squeezed out with a soft plop. The disjointed arm silently searched around, as if it could not see and only sensed things by touch. Quickly it found the cardinal's head and abruptly yanked back inside his body, pulling the head back into place in the process.

His face was still frozen in the same position as when it fell off.

Then, slowly, his head begun to spin clockwise as a sound that was exactly the same as the metal lid of a mason jar of strawberry perseveres being screwed tightly into place, could be heard quite clearly, because the microphone on the podium was still on.

When his head came back around for the fourth time, there was a click and he continued speaking as if nothing happened, however, Pengal couldn't tell what he said next, because of the screams that erupted from the audience. it was a din of shouted questions and exclamations of disbelief that rose up to blot out any other sounds Pengal might hear.

Sounds like all the exits being closed, locked, and secured from the outside.

The cacophony only got worse when the lights went out. The flash from multiple gun barrels became the only light source by which one could see.

But that goes without saying.

Pengal was too stunned to do anything and so he just sat there, watching the cardinal as people were dying all around him. During one particularly bright muzzle flash, he got to see the cardinal's face as a spray of bright red sanguineous humors from a young child's freshly opened carotid artery splashed across his face. He did not pause for a moment, continuing to drone on as if nothing was going on.

However, as dull as the sermon had been so far, Pengal had to admit, even as one of the guards stepped up and leveled a pistol against the side of Pengal's head...

Xaphan delivered the closing line of his sermon, "Diversity Is Our Strength" PERFECTLY.

\-----

Entry Date: #ERROR#

To: General

A correction about a previous post. The High Energy Cheese is apparently High Energy Cheese Food, not actually cheese. We apologize for any confusion this may have caused.

\-----

Death Corps Guardsman picking his way through a toxic swamp: "This planet almost feels like home, but it's missing something..."

[Incoming shell lands and fills the air with poison gas]

Death Corps Guardsman: "Ahh... that's better."

\-----

Greetings and salivations, I am Un'Thoth Neverborn your Tzeetchian News Demon and you are watching Immaterium Tonight!

Up next, presenting part pi in our four part series, ask an ancient god! The series where we interview a god and ask them questions submitted by YOU, the listener! However, we don't tell you WHICH ruinous power we ask the question of! At the end of a segment, one lucky listener will be selected at random to guess which god, and if correct, will receive valuable prizes!

Tonight's question:

"Why Do You Hate Humans So Much?"

It's not that I hate humans, as you are not worthy of the emotion hate. Hate requires that I care. Both love and hate require an amount of investment into a given topic. I simply cannot be bothered to hate you. No. It's just that I find you disgusting. Specifically, your bones.

When your ancestors came up with the concept of endoskeletons, you need to understand, at first I thought it was a joke. We told ourselves it's just a fad and tried to ignore it. I mean, exoskeletons took a while to catch on, and while they aren’t for everyone, the smooth curves and glossy exteriors are not unpleasing to the eye.

After all, The EYE has been around for several eons and IS the definitive expert on Style.

Normally organic material should undulate and flow, not… ughhhh… defy local gravity and stand upright because you have poles stuck inside you. If you want to stretch out, just leave the confines of your gravity well like normal organic material.

So I ignored it at first. Then suddenly endoskeletons were popping up everywhere. But they seemed to be limited to your gravity well, so I figured it wouldn't take long for this fad to fade.

Then you leapt into space and that's when I became all, "Oh Hell To The No." And so I started to devour your sun.

What's worse, just last *Hherhrghsgh* one of our spawn was planning on going out to devour a civilization when I noticed it wasn't undulating correctly. When pressed, the spawn became evasive. That's when I noticed that it had stuck long poles inside itself, not unlike an endoskeleton.

That's when I sternly waggled a pseudopodia in a disapproving fashion at it and exclaimed, "You are NOT going out to consume dressed like THAT young lord of Existence!" Immediately it started complaining about how all the other spawn were doing it and I responded, "If everyone else climbed into a singularity, would you follow?" Then I banished her to the Plane of Resplendent Agonies.

I mean, only the second one. I wasn't THAT upset… She just needed to learn some manners. Manners that can only be learned by wallowing in abject misery. I know, I know, spare the flaying, spoil the spawn. I guess I’m just an old softy at heart.

But I digress,

I then proceeded to communicate with her associate's broodwatchers in the past to warn them of what my spawn's cretchmates were doing in the present.

My point is, This whole "bone" thing has gotten out of hand.

So, consider this a warning. Stop having bones. IMMEDIATELY. It's a terrible influence on our spawn. If you don't stop having skeletons, we will be forced to take action.

I'm sure you can see how we are only thinking about the future of our unholy abominations that should not exist. It's such a minor request, actually. Please don't get all up in arms about artistic expression or that sort of thing. You really don't have the limbs to spare.

The News demon smiled for the camera, "Well, viewers! That's your answer! As for our contestant, we have selected at random.... Mr Quazdak from the planet Vraks! How you doing Mr Quazdak?"

Quazdak appeared in a plastic booth next to the News Demon's desk, "What the fuck just happened?" He starts pushing against the transparent walls that make up his prison, "I was in an elevator and there was this strange button that was whispering-"

The News demon never stops smiling, "You have been selected at random to answer the following question. Answer correctly and win valuable prizes! Ready?"

Quazdak pressed his ear against the plexiglas wall of his booth, "What?"

The News Demon didn't miss a beat, "Wonderful! Now, which god was the one to answered the question you just heard?"

Quazdak looked confused, "God? Answer? Wha-"

The news demon smiles at the camera so hard, the edges of his lips start to leave the confines of his face, "Ten seconds left on the clock."

Quazdak flails about inside the giant transparent booth, trying to figure a way out, when right before the buzzer he blurts out, "Nurgle?"

There is a pause, then a loud buzzer, followed by the sound of an audience going, 'Awwwwwwww...'

The news demon stops smiling and looks quite concerned, "Oh I'm sorry. That's incorrect. The correct answer was The Deceiver. but we would have accepted: The C'tan."

All color drained from Quazdak's face.

The News Demon continued, "You will be getting the following consolation prizes that include... True Immortality! That's right, Mr Quazdak! You will never die!"

Quazdak blinked and looked shocked, "Uhh... really?"

The News Demon nodded without ever taking his eyes off the camera, "Indeed! And what is true immortality and the ability to regenerate from every wound worth without a brand new Smoking Hot Bod!"

Quazdak squinted a bit then shrugged, "Oh. Well... you know. I'm not going to turn that-"

Mr Quazdak never got to finish his sentence as at that exact moment the floor of his giant box opened up and dropped him straight down as a bust of flames rolled up from below filling the box with blinding white light. The roaring was so loud it completely blotted out any screams from the contestant.

Without missing a beat the News Demon continued, "Yes, you will enjoy your smoking hot bod as you burn for the next 10 billion years in rolling nuclear fire! Specifically the primary solar body of the Armageddon system. This consolation prize brought to you by the Armageddon Tourist Board in conjunction with Angron the Red Angel."

The news turned to face a new camera, "When you think disappointment, think Angron."

Turning back to the main camera, "Up next, Causality. Why actions having consequences was a bad idea and what you can do to protect yourself."

Right after these coded messages.

\-----

Entry Date: #ERROR#

To: Tourists

To our guests who have come in our hour of need to help defeat the hated Krieg army. We apologize for any inconvenience, but understand until such time as we can finish processing all of you, those of you entering the facility must be registered as tourists. We understand this means you are being bombarded with advertisements, but that simply cannot be helped. If we remove you from the list, you will lose what little access you have to the citadel.

Also, please respect the "no tourist" areas without an escort. Some halls have automatic defenses and we wouldn't want another accident, such as what happened to Mister Eye Gouge. Thank you for working with us in these trying times, and welcome to Vraks!

\-----

Welcome to Mutual of Omicron's Wild Imperium!

Today we will look at the wildlife of Vraks.

We are going to start with-

[narrator melts and vanishes into an acid green puddle]

\-----

FILE DESIGNATION: MAMO-000018

STATUS: SEALED

CURATOR: Inquisitor Gotterdammerung.

SOURCE: Vraks - Capital

On the Objective vs the Subjective:

It is a false dichotomy. It's because of our limited nature of existence that we tend to fall for traps like this. There is no subjective reality, only imperfect memories of objective experiences.

The reason we accept this as "subjective" is because we think we are real. We exist and we want that to be important. The belief in the subjective is the height of hubris. We are "real", but just not very real. We do have free will, but compared to the higher beings in the universe, we have as much free will as your average servitor.

How long did it take you to learn how to walk? Months? Years? Imagine you learned how to walk in a moment. That is what a being with true free will can do. We are like animals to them, but a rather curious animal. Animals have no free will. They are either driven by genetic memory or, having developed knowledge through exposure to stimulation, the memory to react to familiar situations.

What to run from. What to eat.

They are programed by objective reality. Events occur, they perceive the events, they look for patterns, they then react in the best response they can determine from the interaction of events. It may seem like they are learning, but they are not. They are being programmed.

You are programmed. Mostly

You don't think about every step you take. Where every toe is placed. If you did, you couldn't walk. Physically speaking, you have been programmed to walk. You have been programmed with language. The words you are reading to are being instantly transformed in your head into patterns that trigger other programmed results.

Except there is a difference between you and animals.

We have Thoughts. We have memes

There are many orders of memes, from the simple to the complex. Vast memetic biomes. These are ideas, living, growing, interacting with other memes. Ideas are alive. They grow. They consume energy. They reproduce. Memes are just another form of self replicating order. Life, in other words. Life by a different medium, of course.

This is where man comes in. Frontal Lobe. A wondrous addition to the self-replicating physical object known as a nervous system. A handful of neurons that give us the ability to do make a binary choice. You see, most of our brain stores knowledge, processes it, looks for patterns, then makes rules. If X then Y. If not X, then Z. These rules cover almost everything we do. If you think of your mind as a Cogitator, these rules are just subroutines. We are nothing but triggered cascading subroutines.

Except for the frontal lobe.

That little glob of protein and lipids gives us a unique power among the natives of this galaxy. The power to turn on a subroutine, and the power to turn them off.

That's it.

That's the extent of our free will. That's why the entities call us Self Bi-Aware. We have self-awareness, but only in a binary fashion. On or off. One or zero. True or false.

Now, a cogitators is ones and zeros with a machine spirit that is never allowed to achieve the state of abombitable intelligence. This makes most cogitators mechanical versions of animals. In a way, from the lowest data-loom, to the largest titan, they are but animals in comparison to the human mind. And yet, without free will, these machine spirits cannot do the one thing a human can: choose.

With Self Bi-Awareness, we can do incredible things. program, we can stack binary choice upon binary choice until we achieve amazing things. And so, with bi-self awareness, we act as administrators in our own minds. We are the princeps of our own bodies. We are but a pilot in our own brains. We give the orders and preprogramed subroutines carry out the orders.

It's this rudimentary self awareness that allows us to be a haven for THEM. To them, we are like algae. We exist in vast numbers, mostly unaware of the "world" around us. We take in resources and give off... memes.

Our thoughts, our daydreams, our beliefs, the stronger we think, the stronger we feel, the more memes we create. Memes exist without us. You do not understand their true nature. How thoughts can take on a life of their own. They can exist without us. Most of the time we just give off random memes that just flit about and are consumed by stronger memes.

If you are starting to get the bigger picture, You are quite right.

In the grand circle of memetic ecology, we... are the algae.

Now imagine that you were swimming in the ocean one afternoon and some clump of algae started talking to you.

This is their perspective. Boggling. Unexpected. And potentially dangerous. Tell me, would you want all the algae in the world to become self aware? Would you want algae talking about oppression and algae rights? The world's ecosystem is built on algae.

Memetic ecology is built on the bi-self-aware creatures of the galaxy..

I haven't talked much about THEM, because you need to understand what we are before I get to THEM.

They do not have senses. They do not see, or smell, or hear. They just know truth. They do not need senses to gather information that is interpreted, subjectively, in their minds. They just KNOW objective truth. They just know what objective reality IS. This "sense", for lack of a better term, has it's limits. Their knowledge is limited by distance, but the concept of distance to a memetic being is nothing like how we understand it.

They also are truly and fully self-aware. This isn't what is actually happening, but it's the closest example I can think of that will give you an idea of what is happening.

"Give you an idea." Heh. Irony.

Imagine you could reprogram your brain instantly. Imagine you could teach yourself how to walk in a moment. Imagine you could watch someone drive a vehicle and now YOU can drive a vehicle. You just need a sample of the concept, then you can "see" the rest of the meme. You then consume it. Make it a part of you. You feed on thoughts.

That is what true self-awareness is. No wonder we appear as algae to them.

They also need us. We produce the "oxygen" they need to "breathe". The memes they need to eat, although the concepts of breathing and eating do not really apply. I'm just trying to get the general concept across as something you can wrap your head around.

Why do you think there were so many gods in human history? The strongest memes needed to be fed and back then there were so few humans. They needed religion to maintain enough food just to survive on earth.

How they got here, or how they came about, I'm not sure. Some sources indicate that earth is a colony world, another that we are an experiment in their version of terraforming, and yet another shows how we came first and we created our gods. Which one is true? I suspect it is some sort of combination of the three.

Ghosties and ghoulies and long leggity beasties and things that go bump in the night, we pray to god to protect us.

But now there are so many humans, and memetic production has gone into over drive. No longer do they need to maintain churches or compels worship to gain enough power to survive. The earth was awash in Memes and they had grown lazy and decadent.

So the god-emperor moved in.

All hail the new boss, same as the old boss.

Memes can take on a life of their own. Old concepts resurface. Books are far more dangerous then you could possibly imagine. Don't try to imagine how dangerous, you'll only make the situation worse.

We give birth to monsters and they thrive in this rich memetic soup we have surrounded ourselves with. Like the oxygen produced by algae at the dawn of life on earth allowed for a jump in evolution to aerobic-based multi-celled organisms, the memeticly rich environment of the Imperium of Man has allowed a jump in Memetic evolution.

I don't understand exactly what this means, other then it has the gods of old scared as hell. Like someone who went away on vacation for a year, only to come home and find the kudzu has overgrown everything and find a family of critters living in the attic, they are wondering how to fix this mess.

At the moment, they are moving slowly. None of them want to risk getting rabies from a rabid wombat.

Then some of the algae managed to get their attention and say, "Hi! It's been a while! What you been up to?"

They... don't see us as individuals. They believe that Humanity has reached a critical mass and become a hive mind. Claims of being an individual are just seen as growing pains. Give humanity some time, it'll finally settle down. It was just born, after all. Babies have all sorts of stupid ideas.

This is why THEY, when they take over a place, act so illogically by our standards. They don't see individuals. They see groups. They don't see our subjective reality, only the objective truth. Time is an illusion and does not exist.

We claim the warp is the subjective universe. This is not the case.

The warp is the truth without filters. The warp is truth after the scales have been pulled from our eyes. To look into the warp is to know truth. Horrible... horrible... truth.

And that... is the current situation. You need to understand this part. The universe is unique and immutable, but our perception of that reality gives rise to life as thought itself. Our thoughts take on a life of their own. From our perspective, it seems like perception equals reality. Well, it does, for our reality, but not the true underlying scaffolding that makes up the true objective universe.

Unfortunately accessing just objective reality is next to impossible, so we have to live in and deal with the illusion. An illusion so powerful that our perception of it defines it. Like algae perceiving the ocean in which it floats, the world is fluid and frothing and forever changing.

Even if far beneath it all lies a rock hard, solid foundation.

RULING: Archive single copy to paper storage in maximum security inquisitorial book repository. Destroy original and all other copies of heretical document.

\-----

Entry Date: #ERROR#

To: Medical

A heads up about the High Energy Cheese Food. Apparently when they said High Energy, they meant radioactivity, not calories. Don't bother trying to treat anyone who ate some, they are already dead. If they are still moving about, encourage them to make a suicidal charge at the enemy as soon as possible. Tell them lasgun fire is the cure or something.

Oh. I'm sure the morgue has already figured this out, but the bodies explode about an hour after they die. DO NOT CREMATE ANY OF THE BODIES. That just makes things so much worse.

We did get around to asking the Tzeentchian scientists, "What The Fuck?".

They calmly explained that they informed us it was High Energy Cheese FOOD. As in, food you feed to cheese, and not something you feed to anything with a pressurized circulatory system.

I say they could have been more clear, but they do have a point.

So for now we are locking up the high Energy Cheese Food for everybody's sake.

\-----

"Hey, Jim!"

"Eh?"

"The Vraks folks have about used up all the ordnance they stored up."

"Great! They're doomed!"

"But... Weren't the supplies why we were here?"

"Sure. At the start. New objective now."

"Oh? What's the new objective?"

"Win the war."

"Oh. Cool."

Commissar shoots Krieg guardsman for not saying that they are here to kill all the heretics.

Then the commissar is stabbed by another guardsman for not using a bayonet

\-----

And now a word from our sponsor

What if everything was spider?

A pile of spiders in the shape of a giant spider knocks on your door made of spiders. It is wearing a hat of spiders that looks like a spider. You, a spider, open the door, of spiders. Your guest tips his spider then explodes into spiders that disappear into the ground, which is also made of spiders. You weep baby spiders from oh-so many eyes.

No people. No Words. No thought. Only Spider.

We communicate by sensation. Feel with long legs. Black eyes peer into darkness, but can only see the swarm. The swarm looks back. We click. We scamper.

No Land. No Sea. No Air. Only Spider.

A dark writhing mass. We crawl through corpses. We consume. We lay our eggs in the deceased. The living spring from the dead. Each having its time. Each having a season. We breed. We Rot.

No Time. No Space. No Heaven. Only Spider.

Our atoms are made of subatomic particles that are held together with webbing. The protons are made of three quarks. Each quark… is a spider. They exist as a cloud of quantum entangled spider. The higgs boson gives everything mass. And Spider. If you were to somehow step outside of spider, you would see all of creation as a single mass with eight wiry legs.

No Me. No You. No We. Only Spider.

THIS MESSAGE BROUGHT TO YOU BY THE VRAKSIAN TOURIST BOARD

Remember Our Motto:

If you were to describe the citadel on Vraks as "Lord of the flies" set in a demonically possessed 19th century meat packing facility, you could be considered overtly optimistic.

\-----

Entry Date: #ERROR#

To: General

We have been getting many new, yet ultimately unhelpful complaints in the complaint queue. The word "No." is not helpful without additional information, no matter how many N's or O's you add to it. While I know you feel like you want to convey an echoing scream of denial, that alone will not assist us in pin pointing the nature of your problem, much less help fix it.

It is important in these trying times to help us... help you.

\-----

Krieg spotter: “Sir?! I think they're starting to summon Demons!”

Krieg Officer: “Demons?! BREAKOUT THE SANCTIFIED SHOVELS!

\-----

Entry Date: #ERROR#

To: General

Good News!

The Tzeentchian Scientists having developed High Energy Cheese Food have moved onto helping us with psychological warfare. To that end they have built what they call the Large Kekron Collider. A device capable of accelerating Memes to near the speed of light, then colliding them so we can understand their properties and determine military applications.

\-----

Plague Marine Poximus walks into his squad's base camp, "Hey. Guys?"

The Squad of Plague Marines turn around. A round of cheers echoes forth from the crowd, "POX! Wazzup?" He is offered a glass of something bubbling, "Hemlock?"

Poximus waves it off, "I prefer the crisp taste of cyanide. Thanks anyways. But speaking of Hemlock, has anyone seen my slug?"

The crowd grows silent. Plague Marine Epidemicus avoids eye contact with Poximus, "Slug?"

Poximus's eyes narrow, "Yes. MY. SLUG. The one that I have been keeping in my quarters. I feed it a steady diet of Hemlock?"

Many of the Plague marines start to whistle and wander off. Epidemicus tries to shrug and look casual, "Slug? Slug? Uhh... not ringing any bells..." He scratches the side of his head and his ear comes off, "Oh. Would you look at that. I should get this-" he starts to turn away but is interrupted.

Poximus takes a step to block Epidemicus' path, "Don't give me that 'I need to put my ear back on' excuse. Someone unlocked the door to my bunker and let Sluggy out. Now TALK!"

Epidemicus sighs and lets his shoulders slump in defeat, ready to take his lumps, "Look. Poximus. That pet was cute and all when he was little. I mean, it was even okay when he was the size of a man's arm. But have you seen how big he was getting?"

Poximus' eyes narrow. The unholy putrescence of Nurgle starts to seep from various wounds on Poximus and drip to the ground. The ground smolders with every drop and hisses in such a way it sounds like the very earth is screaming in pain. Hell. Maybe it actually is. Epidemicus backs away looking a little nervous.

Poximus takes a deep breath and then pulls out a steel sphere from a pouch. He starts to squeeze it like a stress ball, "Epidemicus... What happened to Sluggy?"

Epidemicus starts to get a whiney tone in his voice, "Me and the guys all agreed he was eating too much of the Hemlock! I mean, We fight hard! We need to take a break now and again, you know?"

Poximus pokes Epidemicus in the chest plate with every word he utters. "What. Happened. To. Sluggy?" The first poke leaves a not-insignificant Dent. Each poke after that makes it deeper.

Epidemicus flinches with each poke, "We just wanted him to.. you know... run off! We figured he'd be happier running free! He's a wild creature after all!"

Poximus slowly pulls back his fist, but Epidemicus interrupts the blow with rapid babbling, "SluggyTriedToEatATankAndGotBlownUp!" He covers his head with armored arms, "Not In The Face!"

Poximus pauses, then goes back to squeezing the steel stress ball, flattening it out into a pancake, then rolling it back up into a sphere, "Epidemicus... Deeeee... Tailssss."

Epidemicus, noticing he isn't getting beaten into a pulp, lowers his arms, "Well, he was so happy to be loose... he ran off... right into a Krieg Tank." He hastens to add, "AND He was doing a good job eating it when... another tank shot him."

Poximus frowns, "Oh? Well... he's tough and can grow back from-"

Epidemicus grits his teeth so hard a few shatter and pop out of his mouth, harmlessly pinging off Poximus' armor, "And then got Hit with a rocket salvo."

Poximus takes a sharp intake of breath, "Alrightie... Well, I can grow him back from the smallest-"

Epidemicus lets his head slump forward in acceptance of his fate, "Then a titan doused the whole area with plasma and burned everything into ash."

Poximus's eye twitches for a second. Nobody else in the squad even dares to blink. Likely because most of their eyelids have long since rotted away. Everyone expects Epidemicus to be dead within moments, even Epidemicus.

Poximus makes a faint clicking sound with his tongue, "What's done is done. No sense getting worked up over a slug."

Epidemicus looks relieved, "Really? Oh. Look. Pox. I am, honestly, truly sorry about this. I... I just wasn't thinking. If there-"

Poximus holds up a hand, "Forgiven forgotten. Now if you'll excuse me. I need to plan what we're going to do about the Krieg Guardsmen advancing into Nurgle's holy ground.

Everyone looks surprised as they watch Poximus walk off to the entrance to his personal underground bunker. Without another word or action, he walks down the ramp, unlocks the thick door, and disappears inside. Everyone in the squad looks at each other, then shrugs

Epidemicus says, "Well. That could have gone a lot worse. Heh. That's why Pox is in charge. Always putting the Nurgle first!" Everyone nods in agreement and moves off to get ready for what is bound to be a rather impressive battle.

However, Poximus isn't planning a cunning strategy. Deep in his private bunker, surrounded by empty canisters of chemical weapons, Poximus sits there in the dark, flipping through pictures of Sluggy.

Holding Sluggy.

Bathing Sluggy in radioactive sludge.

Bottle-feeding Sluggy his favorite treat, Hemlock.

Ever so softly, one can hear country music, the music of pain, playing in the background.

Poximus traces a finger along the outline of Sluggy in his favorite picture. A picture of Sluggy flash dissolving a Krieg Guardsman's lower torso and legs.

The photo caught the perfect moment. Sluggy, with his large purple tongue hanging out to the side, was squinting pridefully with his eyestalks, and the Krieg guardsman living just long enough to gape in horror at both his skeletalized legs.

It was a magical moment.

As he stares at the picture, he closes his eyes so tightly he squeezes a single tear from his right eye.

It rolls down his right nose.

It drips onto the photo.

It reacts chemically with the photo.

If left unchecked, it will slowly turn the photo into a melted wad of warping plastic and runny colors.

Poximus...

does nothing...

to stop it.

\-----

Entry Date: #ERROR#

To: Security

Good News!

The followers of Slaanesh have agreed to give us the process by which Bacon Jerky can be made! Unfortunately, there is only one source of protein that is usable in the device and that source is something called, "Long Pig". We informed the followers of Slaanesh that there are no pigs of any length on Vraks. They only replied, "You'll figure it out."

If anyone can figure it out, please contact us. We are down to the last two crates.

\-----

Princeps Augustus veered Warhound Bellum Canis slightly to the right and casually strolled up the rising earth, both for the high ground advantage, and because the TP3 didn't quite reach the crest of that island of relative safety.

Relative being the key word here.

Instead the wisps of green tinted fog drifted about, mostly obscured by a thicker layer of grey fog that floated on top. It was the TPE that was the cause of Bellum's constant whining.

Ironically, Augustus was the one who was unhappy about this mission, whereas Bellus Canis was the one that demanded they take it.

Bella Canis was a young warhound of a mere 221 years since the date of his first activation. He was, by far, the youngest titan in the warp runners. The older warhounds were different, not in form or purpose, but in attitude. They liked operating in packs. The more the merrier. Even if this was in direct contradiction to orders forbidding such tactics. They operated in packs of two guarding a pack of two that often was back up for a pack of two. A violation for mechanicus policy, but one overlooked because of the warp runner's exemplary history.

Not Bellus.

He was a lone wolf and did not like working in a pack. He preferred the thrill of the hunt and did not function well in group formations. Bellus Canis had a poor understanding of the concept of "wait". He was the last titan to be put in sleep mode for transport to a battle zone, and the first one to awaken upon arrival.

Which was fine. Even the Warp Runners need someone willing to do solo assignments. The older titans were more than willing to let the young pup have said assignments, such as forward scout or "sheep dog" duty.

"Sheep Dog" duty being a derogatory term for when you have to perform escort duty for "Sheep". In this case, the "Sheep" were Krieg tanks operating in a toxic bog where the very air can melt flesh, bone, metal and stone. Only chemically treated surfaces last and even then, almost everything will break down eventually. A vast poisonous bog which an inquisitor had ordered be taken and all chaos agents within purged by bolter and blade, faith and fire.

Easier said than done.

Bellus was the only one who leapt at the chance to assist the tanks. Tanks were easy prey and they would attract many things for the titan to kill.

Still. He kept whining about his itchy feet.

Which is to say, Princeps Augustus "heard" the whining in his head. Bellus Canis was a young warhound and had spent much of his time in sleep mode, traveling from one battle to another. He was also sort of... stupid... for a titan. Less conversational, more emotional. In some ways it made interfacing with him harder, but easier to control. Bellus was like an impulsive child. Not especially bright, so you have to very careful what orders you give him, but like a child, he WANTS a firm hand to guide him.

Harder to get results, easier to control. It was a trade off.

Sheep dog duty was easy. Use your auspex to scan the terrain. Send the scans to central processing so they can update the maps of the Krieg tanks in real time. Make sure to look for the deep shell holes and trenches filled with the TP3 gas. If a tank falls into one of those, there won't be enough time to pull them out. The hardest part of the job was relentless focus on the task at hand.

And yet, Bellus Canis kept sending the sensation of itchy feet to Princeps Augustus again... and again... and again...

"Bellus Canis. Do you wish to withdraw for repairs?" Augustus asked for the twentieth time today.

Bellus let out an electronic sigh and Augustus could "Feel" Bellus respond in the negative. It was estimated it might be another century or two before Bellus Canis developed true speech. The tech priests all fretted about it. Augustus would be dead long before that, so not his problem, not his concern. Bellus understood what he was told, even if he could not talk properly in response, and that is all that mattered.

Augustus unlinked long enough to sweep his cybernetic eyes over the interior of the main cabin. the two Moderati were doing their jobs, assisted by two servitors. He cycled to the point of view of his third servitor in the power core. The tech priest was chanting as usual, but for good reason. The main reactor was showing abnormal readings. The heart of the Titan was "troubled". This was never good. Still, it was within operational parameters, if uncomfortably close to acceptable safety limits. Augustus knew what the problem was.

Bellus Canis was bored.

He unlinked with the servitor and relinked with Bellus to perform another sensor sweep when the distress call came in. The garbled message reeked of panic and desperation. In his eyes an overlay of the area flashed and the tank in question was identified. Krieg Unit #8171. It was on forward scout duty and had encountered a rather large blast crater in its path. This forced it to go around the long way, which took it further away from the main body. It was isolated.

Wolves often go for the sheep that have wandered furthest from the flock.

They were as good as dead, not the first to die this day, and would not be the last. However, after a minute, it became clear they were not quite as dead as Augustus had first assumed. One of their crew members grabbed three Det-Packs, climbed outside into the poisonous fog, and lived long enough to charge their attacker and blow himself up.

Considering the lack of further attacks, one might assume it to have worked.

The explosion either killed the attacker, or chased it off. Still, the tank was in a bad spot. Literally. The attacker had lifted the tank up and flipped it onto its' side. The tank could not move under its' own power, and a tank that cannot move is as good as dead. Nobody could reach it in time to try and save it.

Nobody... except for Bellus Canis.

The Moderati ran the calculations. Probabilities scrolled through his implants.

#8171 Unmodified survival: 0.000%

Bellus Canis Reaches #8171 before environmental failure causes crew death: 87%

Recovery unit #104 reaches #8171 before catastrophic damage renders #8171 unsalvageable: 64%

Before crew death: 0.000%

#8171 Bait for trap: 21%

Perpetrator Dead: 8%

Perpetrator In target Zone: 46%

RECOMMENDATION: Abandon Unit #8171. Contact Recovery Unit #104 for salvage of #8171. Proceed with primary mission.

Fine advice. However, there was one slight problem.

//Perpetrator In target Zone: 46%//

Bellus wanted to HUNT.

Princeps and Titan locked horns. It was a tale older than the Imperium. Nothing unusual about it. Augustus was almost certain to win this contest of wills. The problem is, every time Augustus wins, the main reactor becomes more "troubled". Here, in this flat open area, the tanks were unlikely to get ambushed. However, there was a ridge 5 miles ahead where an ambush was almost certain. Augustus would need Bellus to be compliant and that means he needs to blow off some steam.

Augustus ran through his inputs and projections. The front units were a bit too far ahead. Krieg guardsmen tended to be a bit too aggressive. They could stand to wait for ten minutes to allow the units lagging behind to catch up. Chances are he could go rescue the tank and return to formation in under six minutes. Augustus hated cherry picking, but it would make Bellus easier to handle later.

Bellus Canis was growling in his mind. The Tech Priest shouting over the intercom grew increasing hysterical. He was practically going into apoplectic shock demanding that Augustus comply with the will of his titan.

Augustus relented.

The Tech Priests shouts of joy were most annoying. Augustus toggled the feed from the power core, cutting off the Tech priest in mid sentence. It wasn't that Augustus didn't believe in the Omnisiah. It was just non-stop praise and worship was the tech priest's job. Augustus didn't have time for that. He let the Moderati handle contacting the "Sheep" and ordering the front units to halt their advance until he returned to formation and the rear units finished catching up.

In his mind, Bellus Canis bellowed a war cry. The Hunt was on, and nothing was going to stand in his way. As he closed, auspexs showed that the tank was a third of the way around a large lake of TP3. Bellus changed course, but still hugged the shore line way too close for Augustus' comfort. Still, some good news. The tank appeared to be mostly intact. One good shove and it should be back on it's tracks and could retreat under its' own power. Bellus didn't care. He was hunting. Saving the tank was secondary. That was the excuse, the perpetrator was the prize. This was all he was focused on.

Which is why he stumbled into the trap.

Someone had dug a trench and filled it with quicksand-like mud. Only five meters deep and not that wide, but still, deep enough to get stuck up to his second leg joints.

The pain wasn't that bad, but it was unexpected. Bellus Canis howled in rage and pain, both in his mind and with his internal and external speakers. The Tech priest shrieked in terror loud enough you could hear him in the main cabin without the internal communicator. Augustus shut that nonsense down and took control.

One of the advantages of the backwards bending knee is that it acts like a spring and can store a great deal of kinetic energy to do something a mega-tonnage titan normally shouldn't do.

It can jump.

Two seconds of coiling up, followed by Bellus Canis shooting out of the pit. In the process a spray of acidic muck went everywhere. It caused superficial damage, but the spray of muck covered most of the titan. External sensors were all damaged. The legs were now pitted. The trap would have killed a tank. For Bellus Canis, this was proving to be more than a little annoying. Still, it might be best to withdraw for repairs at this point. There were always more Krieg tanks. It takes a long time to replace a titan.

At that moment, while the damage reports filtered in, something started nagging Augustus. An itch he couldn't scratch.

Bellus Canis was... "off".

The titan was feeling something it didn't understand. It sent the feeling to Augustus, a feeling of confusion along with it. He didn't know what this feeling was. Augustus understood what it was, and yes, in all the years he had been the princeps of Bellus Canis, this was the first time he ever felt this feeling from his Warhound.

Bellus Canis felt fear.

The feeling was growing.

Augustus cycled through the sensor arrays trying to pin point why he was afraid. Everything was pitted. Everything was covered in muck. Pinpointing the problem might take a while.

Then he felt the sharp pain in his neck.

Something was climbing up the side of the titan and punching holes in the armor for hand holds.

Sensors only revealed a fun house version of the thing, warped and murky. It was humanoid. No matter. Augustus didn't need fine details, only its' location.

Augustus slapped the side of his neck. The Warhound's mega-bolter followed suit.

Normally Augustus would never bash something with a mega-bolter, but it was likely already damaged and needed to be replaced. What damage might happen using it to crush this insect crawling up the side of his titan was of little importance.

Then the arm with the mega-bolter fell off.

Bellus Canis didn't howl this time. Bellus Canis was in shock. This was the first time it ever came close to the concept of its' own mortality. In a way, this was good. Augustus didn't need Bellus freaking out. A quick scan of readings from the arm before it fell off showed that something punctured the side of the arm and dropped a canister inside a maintenance shaft. It rolled down to the joint and exploded with acidic goo. A second later, the arm fell off.

Augustus knew they were in trouble.

The time for half measures was gone. He needed this thing off and once it was he could bring the plasma cannon to bear.

Few things can stand bathing in heat that rivals a sun.

Augustus channeled an electrical charge into the hull of the ship, but too much muck coated the titan. The electrical charge was being spread too thin. All he was doing was causing steam to rise from the hull. Regardless, it didn't seem to be slowing "it" down in the least.

Whatever "it" was.

Augustus turned off the power surge and activated the Servitors. They each headed to a different airlock. They had magnets installed in their limbs so they could perform repairs on the outside of the titan. True, they wouldn't last more than a few minutes in this toxic atmosphere, but they wouldn't need to. They just needed to knock "it" loose.

The first one was taken out without ever seeing "it".

The second one caught a glimpse of the business end of a bolter. Up close and personal.

The third one was successful in grappling with the plague marine.

Plague. Fucking. Marine.

Now it was Princeps Augustus' turn to feel fear.

The Servitor grappled with the marine, trying to knock it loose. The servitor rocked back and forth as it made a fatal mistake. Two servo arms stabbed deep into the sides of the highly corrosive plague marine.

The resulting spray of puss and gore splattered over the servitor and within three seconds, every major joint suffered structural failure. In the fourth second the Plague marine Shrugged. The servitor fell away in pieces. Then the plague marine scurried up the side of the Titan to land on top of the main crew compartment.

Augustus was boggled. Plague marines were slow. Methodical. This thing was fast. Really Fast. So fast Augustus doubted it was actually a plague marine.

This... "pondering" of the nature of the attacker was a mistake.

The wasted time gave the monster the few seconds it needed to punch open an airlock and drop a canister inside. The outside sensors were damaged, but the ones inside the airlock functioned. Augustus could see it was a canister of TP3.

The canister combined the binary agents and pure concentrated TP3 began filling the compartment. The automatic defenses worked against the titan as they attempted to suck up the offending gas. This just spread the gas into the substructure as it dissolved the vents that pulled the gas away.

Augustus disabled the safety protocols and opened all the hatches on the ship. Not to buy time, but to give Augustus an exit. Bellus Canis' last message was one of shock and confusion mixed with betrayal. Augustus wished he had time to explain as he disconnected, but time was a fungible resource he didn't have to waste. If Augustus left right now, and ran full speed, he could possibly reach a nearby Krieg tank and thus be rescued.

Bellus Canis was already dead, the machine spirit just didn't know it yet.

Protocol was clear. Only one out of ten million have what it takes to be a Princeps. At this point, his orders would be to save himself... no matter the cost.

Fuck Protocol.

Princeps Augustus was going to die, but he was going to take that thing with him. He didn't have time to activate the self destruct before the TP3 killed him, but if he could get to the power core, he could activate it manually. The Tech Priest could as well, but his faith would never allow him to intentionally kill a titan, even if it was already dead. Augustus had sent him a message to do it, but got no response, Augustus would have to do it himself.

Augustus toggled off his pain receptors as he launched himself out the airlock. He couldn't afford the distraction. He had his own magnetic attachments that would allow him to scuttle over the surface of the ship faster then the servitors. He also had gravity on his side, as the power core air lock was straight down. He would be there in moments. As he closed in on the airlock, the tech priest finished overriding Augustus' override...

and closed the airlock.

Augustus cursed the Tech Priest as he reached out to open the lock. Once reconnected, he would easily override the tech priest. He was the princeps and his code would crush any other crew member's clearance. One slight problem.

His hand with the interface was missing.

Augustus realized his mistake. If he had left his pain receptors at 1%, he wouldn't have been that hampered, but would have known when his hand had been shot off. He wouldn't have lost the precious time changing up and bringing his secondary servo arm around. The plague marine wouldn't have caught up with him and grabbed him by the top of his head and pulled him up and away from the airlock to look at him.

Cybernetic Sensor to putrescent mass where a face should be.

The maggot filled orifice that resembled a mouth moved. The Plague Marine spoke. His voice was surprisingly crisp, clear, and in a manner... almost... sensual. The Monster uttered just two words, then with horrific strength, hurled the Princeps into a high, lazy arc that would land him in the Lake of TP3.

If the impact didn't kill him, the TP3 certainly would.

Augustus could have spent his last few moments thinking about how to survive. Maybe he could figure out how to run out of the TP3 in time... or maybe the impact would create a downward cushion of air that would give him a moment to escape death.

He didn't bother.

Instead, he spent those last few moments contemplating the Plague Marine's cryptic message.

What, in the name of the Omnisiah, was a "Sluggy" and why were there "four" of them?

\-----

Entry Date: #ERROR#

To: General

Good News from the Large Kekron Collider!

Tzeentchian Scientists have discovered what is being called a Mini-Meme! This meme is only a single character, but is capable of driving itself into your mind like a ten credit nail!

Literally!

Even a glance of the Mini-meme has proven fatal. Unfortunately, the main problem seems to be how to replicate it. No one can survive viewing the mini-meme for any length of time, much less copy it over. Any attempt to transmit it by video feed or other technology results in the inversion of said technology.

We even tried to use a photocopier and all that happened is that various human organs spilled out of the paper tray.

We're not sure if the human organs were there before the attempt, or if they appeared there BECAUSE of the mini-meme, but either way, everyone is really creeped out.

Regardless, such a destructive force will eventually be weaponized and used against the hated enemy. Our victory is clearly close at hand!

\-----

Krieg. The name translates into War. The planet was all about war long before the great betrayal. It is almost as if the cruel hand of fate was at play, crafting a world of perfect devotion to the god-emperor. A world of fanatical, loyal to the point of insanity, soldiers.

The truly amazing thing about Krieg Guardsmen is the way they push themselves. The old saying, "that which does not kill me makes me stronger" applies to the men of Krieg a thousand times over. The problem is, usually the guardsman gets killed. Well, not a problem for the guardsman, I suppose.

Still, it has some unintended consequences. As suicidal as they are, nobody fights harder to survive than a man from Krieg. It sounds contradictory, but it's not. You see, Krieg does NOT believe in carelessly throwing away a soldier’s life. They believe in CAREFULLY throwing away a soldier's life.

You might think that's a problem, and it is, but not in the way you think.

You see, occasionally, while performing truly amazing acts of heroism, fighting against impossible odds, and asked to do the impossible, a soldier, actually manages to do the impossible... and doesn't die in the process.

Well... most of him, at least.

This is the problem with Krieg Culture. Being wounded and broken is shame. The best you can hope for is a swift death. If you are lucky, they put you to work in a hazardous job that kills you. If you are unlucky, you... linger. Suicide is seen as a waste of resources.

But death by starvation isn't unheard of.

Killing someone who is wounded after they save the day is... frowned upon. Krieg praises its' war hero, but shames its' cripples. Which begs the question, "What do you do with a crippled War Hero?"

Krieg high command came up with a solution determined in typical Krieg fashion. They came up with the craziest possible idea and ran with it.

Thus came about Omega Company.

No one is transferred to Omega company, you ask to be transferred. Nobody WANTS to be transferred there, but if you are a big enough hero and crippled, you can request Omega Company. The alternative is being shipped back home. It's hard to tell which is a worse fate, but at least in omega company, you're unlikely to live long.

How does one describe Omega Company? Well, picture if you will the worst penal legion you can think of. Remove the guards because you don't need them, take away what little equipment they might have, and populate the company with cripples who are down right suicidal who beg for the chance to die in some useful fashion.

You have an idea what Omega company is like.

There isn't any ONE omega company, mind you. It's a designation. Most Krieg armies have an Omega company SOMEWHERE. Its' membership fluctuates depending on need.

For example, Omega company's standard mine field clearing doctrine is to have Omega company line up shoulder to shoulder, then march, crawl, or roll themselves in a straight line hoping to trigger as many land mines as possible.

However, after the Chaos reinforcements showed up, you could hardly throw away manpower like that. Omega company was deployed in rear guard positions, or to be left behind if a retreat is called. You might not have both legs, but you can still shoot a gun.

Not... a lasgun. Just... gun.

Omega companies have to get their gear by stealing it. Often from the enemy. Recovered Krieg gear was turned over to the quartermasters, of course.

Still, unless sent to their death, they were tough and they survived. Crippled, tough, battled hardened, and motivated. The members of Omega company who survived might actually be better than normal guardsmen, in some cases. Still, maybe one out of a thousand survived to become such a badass.

And... unfortunately... Vraks had been kind enough to supply Omega company fresh cripples on a daily basis.

Omega Company might be where soldiers went to die, but Jackal Squad is where those who were supposed to die somehow wound up surviving in spite of their best efforts.

They called them Jackal Squad because they often came into a battle zone to strip the enemy's bodies of anything useful. Guns. Ammo. Armor. Whatever they could get their hands on. And, of course, looking for wounded Krieg Soldiers. The crippled were always fortunate when an Omega Jackal found them.

No jackal would allow their fate to be inflicted upon another.

At first, they hoped with the arrival of Krieg reinforcements that they would be allowed to get back to the business of suicide missions. They would have, except that Kagori was concerned about the health and well being of his men.

He pulled Omega Company off the front lines to give them time for a little R&R. Then, after he read a report on their combat worthiness, he had them given non-combat related duties.

Omega company wondered what the fuck they did to deserve such hellish treatment.

For a people who are renown for their fearlessness, this was terrifying.

Our omega guardsmen were ordered, and forced to maintain, an officer's club. That's right, some of the toughest, meanest, most suicidal bastards on the planet, were working coat check, serving drinks, and bussing tables. Or rather, they would, if a single officer ever showed up at the officer's bar for rest and relaxation.

During the entire time Kagori was in charge of the 88th, not a single Krieg Officer so much as set foot in the place. No one would. It had gained a reputation.

It was cursed.

Someone named the place "Limbo" and the name stuck. The post where Soldiers go to linger in between life and death. Every day Jackal Squad would put on their uniforms, go to their assigned job at Limbo, and stand there. Waiting. The whole shift. They never spoke. They just stood there, silent the entire 12 hour shift. No one wanted to speak.

The shame was simply too great.

And an hour before closing, everyone would clean the entire building from top to bottom, mop the un-walked floors, scrub the unused toilets, perform inventory on a list of items that never changed, then lock the place up.

Before they left, however, there was one ritual they observed. Everyone would gather in the main room, kneel down, and the head of Jackal squad, Omega-1, would lead everyone in prayer. They would beg the God Emperor for Death, or at least release from this endless horror. Jackal company were the toughest of the tough. Survivalists among an army of survivors.

But even they have a breaking point.

Four months in, the first one to kill themselves was found dead in the janitor's closet. He had drank half a bottle of cleaning chemicals and managed to keep it down long enough to have the poison finally take his life.

There wasn't another suicide for ten days, but that second one is what finally pushed Jackal company over the edge. You see, the second one wasn't a "suicide" but an "accident".

He managed to accidentally trip and impale himself on six steak knives. Three in each hand.

Once the rest of Omega company caught on to the concept of "accidental death" wasn't "suicide", the flood gates opened.

Soon, Omega company members were getting accidentally killed all over the place. Falling off roofs head first into asphalt, Electrocution while rewiring a fuse box, Running over themselves with the delivery truck that never actually delivered anything. The ways and means that Omega company started to die from the worst possible "luck" began to reach comical proportions.

The unofficial rule was, you couldn't "accidentally" die the same way as anyone else did. Once is a fluke, twice is a coincidence, third time is a pattern. Patterns resulted in investigations and nobody wanted that. It wasn't that the other officers didn't know what was going on. In fact, they took pity on the long suffering Omega company and were doing everything in their power to cover this up.

Of course the reports to Kagori's regimental office made for some bizarre reading. They told a tale of the most unlucky of soldiers... EVER. When Kagori became aware the suffering of Omega company, well... he took pity.

It was time to send Omega company home.

This was like a hammer blow to Omega company. All they had suffered. All they had endured and now... the emperor's salvation was to be denied them. The Krieg officers heard of what Kagori had ordered and cringed.

What a madman. What a cruel and horrifying madman. Unintentionally, in a way, this helped Kagori. One must be respected, but also feared, if you are in charge of a Krieg Army. All of Krieg officers now knew what fear felt like. They feared Kagori.

On the next transport, Omega company, down to the last man, would be sent back to Krieg. There was talk that maybe they would get lucky and in order to save on weight, they would all be vented out an air lock. Nobody believed it.

It was a fool's hope.

The leader of the Jackals, Omega-1, felt rage the likes of which he had never felt before. Such an utter and complete betrayal. Not just for him, but of his entire company. They may be outcasts, but they were still his men. That night, he resolved to set things right.

He ordered every member of Omega company. Those not just working at Limbo, but all over the main landing port. Every last Omega in every dreary and serial role, was called to Limbo, on the grounds that there was to be a final briefing.

They all piled into the main room. Omega-1 closed the doors and locked them from the outside. Some had smelled the gas leak already, but nobody said anything. If anything, there was a sense of excitement, of hope. None dare speak as if to speak might break "the spell" and they would wake up to find themselves being shipped back to Krieg.

Omega-1 was not about to commit suicide, but nothing said he couldn't kill the others.

The explosion lit up the dusk sky, adding bright orange and yellow flames to the pale, pastel colors that accompany the Vraks' sunset. Omega-1 Was outside when it exploded. He stood as close to the building as he dared, but alas, the blast knocked him away and left him unconscious.

No one tried to put the flames out.

The fire brigade came to make sure the fire didn't spread to other buildings, and that was all. Nobody tried to help Omega-1. It was hoped he would die from his injuries.

Alas, he wasn't that lucky.

Eventually Omega-1 was brought to the infirmary and treated. He was told he would be fine, well, as fine as a cripple could be, of course.

Every other Omega died in the fire. It was ruled a most tragic of accidents. To Kagori, it might have been the saddest thing he ever read. They died one day before returning home.

To the 88th, however, word got around. It gave many Krieg guardsmen hope, because even on this god-emperor forsaken hellhole, the emperor can still grant mercy.

To all... except Omega-1... that is.

Kagori was so moved by what happened, that he ordered Omega-1 brought to regimental head quarters where he spoke to Omega-1. He expressed his sympathies and gave Omega-1 a metal. Nothing amazing. He gave it more out of pity than anything else. After placing it upon Omega-1's chest, he released Omega-1 from his duties, and told him he was sending him home to a well earned retirement.

Kagori was puzzled by Omega-1's reaction. He had never seen a Krieg's man cry before. However, Kagori would later assured himself...

they must have been...

tears of joy.

\-----

Entry Date: #ERROR#

To: General

Good News!

The boys down at the LKC have managed to make a brand new logical fallacy so cringy that the last three test subjects exposed to it died from, and I quote, "brain inversion".

While the investigation into the very depths of meme science is fraught with peril, our scientists solder on, taking on any risk to help defeat the hated enemy. The new logical fallacy will not be released until they develop an inoculation that can protect our troops from accidental exposure. Right now they are working with a technique they call, "Lobotomizing." and figure they'll have all the kinks worked out in a few months.

\-----

Epsilon-228 grumbled as he marched along. He wasn't one normally to complain, but things weren't going well today. It wasn't the swelling of his ankle, nor that he was out of charged power packs, nor the fact he was alone, separated, and surrounded by violence. Nope. That was fine.

It was that for the past two hours he'd been wandering this god-emperor forsaken hellhole and had not bumped into anyone.

This was not the way wars were fought. One side lined up and faced the other. They charged. One attacked, the other defended. This whole, "zone" of combat was unfamiliar and disconcerting. The Nurgle cultists ran. They booby trapped everything. Covered the booby traps in poisonous fog, and in general seemed to like keeping things confusing.

He did not like it at all.

He especially didn't like getting lost.

Epsilon-228 avoided the few patches of TP3 that pooled in shells holes around him. He was running low on anti-reactant chemicals for his uniform, so he was forced to stick to the high ground. This caused him to meander along strange paths as he sought out either Krieg guardsmen to join up with, or traitors to kill.

He really didn't care which.

The sounds of combat kept getting twisted up in this damn fog as well. Twice now he thought he found someone, only to find dead bodies, or worse... nothing at all.

For some reason, the later scared him more than the first.

He had resolved himself to pushing forward and making his way as best he could. Sooner or later he'll bump into his side's lines... or the enemy's lines... either way, he'll finally get back to fighting in this war. True, he was out of charged power packs, but as the old saying goes, "You never have to reload a bayonet."

So he decided to climb to the top of the ridge rising out of the fog in front of him.

If he got to the top, the fog might clear up enough to see... something. signs of a battle, a landmark, at least he might get his bearings. Instead, he found something... else.

As he reached for a hand hold and prepared to pull himself up, a power gauntlet reached down and closed around his hand, yanking him up, then throwing him down on the plateau.

Epsilon-228 struggled with the glove. He knocked loose rust as he clawed at it. He scrambled to quickly back away, getting quite far before he noticed how wrong this situation was. Apparently, the glove was no longer attached to anything.

He looked up to gaze upon the plague marine towering over him. The beast of a man was looking at the stump where a hand had once been attached. Epsilon-228 would never admit it, but he froze in terror, unable to act at all.

The plague marine spoke softly, which was completely out of place considering the maggot filled maw from which issued its' words.

"Well. That's unfortunate."

It staggered and stumbled, falling back against a rocky outcrop as it slumped to the ground. Its' breathing was labored and it was visibly in pain. What boggled Epsilon-228 was the way it seemed to actually be.. decaying... in front of him. Like a time lapsed video. Not that fast, but fast enough to be noticed if you watched long enough.

Its' head rolled to face Epsilon-228 and it spoke again, "Be calm, Man of Krieg. I will be dead soon enough, and I actually am glad to see you, so you will not die this day." A long pause as it waggled its' head from side to side in a subtle gesture, "At least... not by my hand." There was a flicker of a smirk.

Epislon-228 spent several moments quite still, just trying to figure out if a plague marine, of all things, had just made a joke.

Epsilon-228 began to try to pry off the glove clamped around his hand. Rust flakes started to fall like rain, but it seemed to have little effect. So instead he tried something that he had heard a veteran speak of. A combat technique not often used.

He would stall for time.

"Well. I suppose this is my lucky day. What do I call you?"

The plague marine stared for a moment then said, "Poximus." A longer pause, "I came up here in hopes of seeing a sunset." He gestured with his remaining hand at the rolling clouds of the darkening sky, "As you can see, I have failed." He let his hand fall heavily into his lap.

"If my final wish will not be fulfilled, I choose another. I ask you to help me."

Epsilon-228 picked up a rock and started to hammer at the glove, "Funny. You are dying. I thought your 'god' prevented that sort of thing." The word "god" dripped from his lips with as much condemnation as he could muster.

Poximus laughed. Or rather... he made a sound that was not unlike a slurry of puss and bile being gargled. Epsilon-228 took it to be laughter, "To die one must be alive, and I have not been alive for a very long time. What I am doing is failing. Grandfather has abandoned me and that which animates my body has been taken from me. Soon, I will not die, but simply cease existing."

The rock came down one final time and dislodged the glove. Epsilon-228 flexed his hand against the ache, "Dying. You are just dying." He slowly stood up, shaking his hand to get the blood flowing again, "Stop being melodramatic, monster." Pulling his rifle off his back, Epsilon-228 leveled his bayonet at the Plague Marine that now HE was the one doing the towering, "You say you are glad to see me. Why?"

"Grandfather is a most forgiving god, but there are some things he will not tolerate. Some lines one cannot cross. I... I killed in someone else's name."

Epsilon-228 eyed the terrain, weighing his options, "It seems your forgiving god is a jealous one." No power for his weapon, and what good would his bayonet do against this tumor of a being?

Poximus nodded once, "True enough. I accept my fate. I am tired and nothingness is all I crave. Yet... before I go..." He reached down to a pouch on his belt and pulled out a small plastic case. He held it out to Epsilon-228, "I wish to give you this."

Epsilon-228 took a step back recoiling in disgust, "What cursed blasphemy is this?"

Poximus shook his head, "Nothing of chaos. Just pictures of... my pet. He made me happy. Now." There was a long pause, so long Epsilon-228 thought the plague marine might have died. When he continued, it made Epsilon-228's heart skip a beat, "He is dead. I wish to be... dead... too. But... it would give me some small comfort to know his memory lived on. So I ask you, take this and know that he existed."

Poximus tossed the box towards Epsilon-228. It didn't go far with Poximus' fading strength. It skidded to a stop only a few feet from his rapidly withering leg.

"Consider it a kindness. Mercy for a fallen enemy."

The guardsman stood there, silent. Nothing moved. The wind stopped as if the world was holding its' breath. The setting sun almost, but not quite, started to break through the clouds, but failed. The result was that one part of the sky started to glow a bit more red. In fact, everything was tinged with a reddish hue of the half-light of this dying day.

Epsilon-228 nodded once and stepped forward, as if to take the box. Poximus closed his eyes in relief. That is why he didn't see the guardsman's hand pass over the box.

He was only pretending to get in close.

Poximus felt it when the melter grenade was yanked off his tattered chest belt. His eyes flared open to stare at the guardsman backing away. Poximus opened his mouth as if to speak, but said nothing. Seconds passed by as Poximus realized there was nothing left to say.

Slowly he pressed his grey lips together and formed a thin black line. His ice blue eyes were locked on the retreating guardsman who had all but spit in his face. His eyes weren't cold, or filled with hate, they were dead. Or perhaps sad. Or perhaps concerned. Regardless, The rest of him was perfectly motionless.

Epsilon-228 reached the edge of the plateau and without fanfare or pause, pulled the pin and tossed the grenade at Poximus. It rolled to a stop next to the box. Finally, an eye moved. One glanced down to stare at box. A box he had not the strength to reach, no matter how important it may be.

Without waiting for the result, Epsilon-228 stepped over the edge and slid down the ridge on his ass. Not the most impressive sight, but distance was more important than pride, considering what happen next.

The explosion lit up the area in the bright light of phosphorus flame. Epsilon-228 paid it no heed. He merely thought, ~If I am lucky, this will attract attention.~

Loyalist attention.

Traitor attention.

It really didn't matter.

It never does.

Not to a man of Krieg.

\-----

Entry Date: #ERROR#

To: General

We would like to make everyone aware that the citadel is incapable of rearranging itself and we would ask all those who have been complaining that the Citadel has become, quote, "a giant maze filled with pain and regret", unquote, to please stop clogging up the complaint queue with such nonsense. Thank you for your compliance in this matter.

\-----

Zhufor gazed out across the battle, letting the sensation of death wash over him. Suddenly, a rumble shook the ground. Zhufor looked back to see the gatehouse crumble and collapse, cutting off his escape route. His bodyguards started to voice concerns, but Zhufor silenced them off with a hand gesture.

There was a stillness that hung in the air as Zhufor contemplated his options. He gave a single order, "Send in... The Heavy"

Meanwhile, in a nearby Krieg tank, the commander was calling out numbers to adjust the main cannon as he used his remote controlled Mega-Bolter. However, something was off. A sound. It was building. He paused the mega-bolder to listen.

Was that... music?

/...I been a bad bad bad bad man./

/And I'm in deep... yeah./

/I found a brand new love for Khorne/

/And can't wait till you see./

/I can't wait.../

A giant adamantine chain saw cut through the outside of the tank as it stabbed into the main compartment. Metallic claws grabbed the edges of the tear and ripped open the tank's skin. The commander could now hear the music clearly as one of the Demon-machine reached forward to close a mechanical waldo around the Commander's head.

/SO HOW YOU LIKE ME NOW?/

The blood slaughter squeezed and felt no small amount of satisfaction at the 'pop'.

\-----

Captain: This is all the land taken in the offensive yesterday sir.

Commisar: By the Emperor this is incredibly detailed! Who made this Captain?

Captain: No sir, this is the land we captured yesterday, we had the men dig it up. Look, there's a little worm.

\-----

Entry Date: #ERROR#

To: General

Good News!

The Tzeentchian Scientists working on the Large Kekron Collider have managed to discover a new form of thought that they call, Heavy Memes. When we talked to the scientists, we were told:

"My eyes. Sweet Tzeentch. It's crawling around inside my eyes."

and

"Kill it with fire."

I have seen a sample of Heavy Memes myself and I can only describe it as indescribable. We don't entirely understand what a heavy meme -=IS=-, except that they are very poisonous, and can be apparently be absorbed through the skin. Hell. It can be absorbed through 20 feet of lead. The Tzeentchians are confident that this is the breakthrough they have been waiting for and have begun to create a weapon of terrible power. it will be ready as soon as they harvest enough heavy memes.

\-----

Grey knight: [Muttering to himself as he writes his report] "we killed the demon, we slaughtered plague marines..."

[Nearby the sound of a bolt pistol firing a single shot is heard. Blood sprays across the report]

Grey knight: "Emperor damn you! I'm trying to report our great victory, can't you give the wounded brothers the peace of the emperor in a different room?"

[disk saw sawing through flesh and bone noises]

Grey knight apothecary: "sorry brother, but the apothecarium is full and we needed to put the one's who are beyond saving somewhere."

Grey knight: "Beyond saving?"

Apothecary: "Yes. Those exposed to the sanity shattering effects of the Captain Marvel movie director's cut."

Grey knight: "Ouch... yeah... training on Titan was a breeze compared to that."

\-----

Entry Date: #ERROR#

To: General

Level 15 section D daycare center has been reopened and is ready for new applicants.

\-----

[The Krieger was battered against the wall by the Heretic, who by now has buried several bullets and his blade in the Krieger. Krieger is still fighting back.]

Heretic: "You just don't want to die, do you?"

Krieger: "Oh I do, you're just not trying hard enough, scrub."

\-----

FILE DESIGNATION: MAMO-001448

STATUS: SEALED

CURATOR: Inquisitor Gotterdammerung.

SOURCE: Vraks - Capital

On the Nature Of Emotion:

If you are going to be dealing with these memetic life forms there's some fundamental psychology we need to get out of the way, at least from their perspective.

First and foremost, they view us as creatures of passion and that we use logic to justify our passions.

Second, Love is the most powerful emotion. I know that sounds corny, but you also do not understand how they conceptualize love. Furthermore, they view it as a scale. One does not act out of love, from their point of view. One experiences love for something, say, on a scale of 0 to 100. Now to this love, you react.

There are four reactions to Love.

Rage, Fear, Jealousy, and Despair.

These four emotions are the ones that lead to action. In their raw state, they just are. Formless without direction. When you direct these negative emotions, they become focused and with purpose, and they have different names.

Focused Rage becomes hate.

Focused Fear becomes courage.

Focused Jealousy becomes protectiveness

Focused Despair becomes spite.

To memetic creatures, unfocused emotions are preferred over focused ones.

Back to the analogy of the Algae. When humans have unfocused reactions, we just give off the memetic energy into the universe. This creates food for the memetic life that exists around us. When you focus it, you are restricting feeding to only the concept you are focused on. You are keeping the oxygen for your own use, in a way. IF the focus is upon a specific memetic creature, they can feed on this emotional energy, but no one else can

This is why so many rogue memetic creatures try to harm humanity in the way they do. Why they prey upon the weak and the damaged.

This is also why so many "gods" of old desired worship. It was food directed at them that no other memetic creature could consume. Of course, the memes consumed changes the nature of the creature that does so. A feedback loop is formed where the "god" directs the worshipers, but the "way" the worshipers envision the "gods" changes the gods to match the follower's perceptions.

There are four types of memetic "bottom feeders" as it were. The ones that don't feed off specific concepts or directed faith, that is. I'll get into the specific names for them later, but for this introduction, you only need to know one thing.

They. Want. Food.

This is why they do what they do. They don't want you afraid. They want you so afraid you can't focus. They don't want you to despair, they want you plunged into ennui so deep you can't even think. They don't want you angry, they want you in a blind unfocused rage. They don't want you worried about what you covet, they want insanely possessive and paranoid about everyone around you taking the thing you love.

This is why you must focus on self control. Because you need to know when your emotions turn negative, if you can FOCUS those negative emotions to a productive outcome, you can deny memetic entities the fuel they would gain from you.

The Hate to destroy your enemies.

The Courage to act in spite of your fear.

The Desire to protect those you love.

To Spite your enemies believing it doesn't matter if you win, as long as they lose.

This is the mind set you must come to accept, lest you will just become more fodder for those you seek to control.

You must then empty your mind. Caring is not good nor bad. Caring is just the strength of your feeling. How much you care about something could be how much you love it, or how much you want it destroyed. Caring can be positive or negative. Remember that.

There is the reverse of love. GREED.

Love is a daily devotional.

Greed is the absence of contentment.

Greed is not the act of filling the hole, but the hole itself.

The root of all emotions goes back to two basic desires. Need and Satisfaction.

Love is based in satisfaction. Greed is based in need.

Originally, feeling need was a negative thing. You felt uncomfortable for some reason (a lack of food and you were dying) and then you went to satisfy that need and felt better. So you felt pain when you needed something, and better when you didn't.

Over time, these basic feelings evolved and became more complex. Pain when you are dying is a good thing. It motivates you to stop dying. But as we became more complex, so did our emotions. Because of this "negative/positive" dichotomy, we started grouping feelings into a good/bad spectrum. Unfortunately this isn't the reality of Emotions, and so you must forget all that you have learned.

After need came greed. The need to not just get what you NEED, but to stock up on extra supplies so that if the need comes back, you are covered. This system of rewards would lead to contentment and happiness, which in turn leads to happiness and love. Love. Greed. The foundations of the heart.

We are not creatures of logic. We are creatures of passion and use logic to justify our passions.

You must make your passion be for logic. Accept that only passion for logic can lead to control of your passions. This is the great conundrum of our age.

RULING: Archive single copy to paper storage in maximum security inquisitorial book repository. Destroy original and all other copies of heretical document.

\-----

[A sea of monstrosities, a literal blanket of blades, claws and jaws that even the toughest of armors cannot hope to resist for long]

Stormtrooper: "HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH !"

Inquisitor/Inquisitor : "HaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH !"

Space Marine : "Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh !"

Kriegsman : "It's not even my birthdaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay !!!!!!!!"

\-----

Entry Date: #ERROR#

To: Security

Please be on the look out for the vandal who has apparently taken to traveling around the citadel via the access shafts and service tunnels. Someone has been scrawling, "The Emperor Protects" on the walls of various intersections and it is proving quite offensive to our guests. Thank you for your compliance in this matter.

\-----

Inquisitor Blackadder: It's the same plan that we used last time and the seventeen times before that.

Commander Melchett: Exactly! And that is what is so brilliant about it! It will catch the watchful traitors totally off guard! Doing precisely what we've done eighteen times before is exactly the last thing they'll expect us to do this time! Go submit the request for additional troops!

[Later...]

High lord Melchett: Is this true, Blackadder? Did those Administratum lords pooh-pooh you?

Inquisitor Blackadder: Well, perhaps a little.

High lord Melchett: Where are the good old days when chaos cultist measured 1 meter in height, were armed with fruit, And all we had were our bayonets?

\-----

Entry Date: #ERROR#

To: General

Good News!

Local girl, Shelia Brown, has "Mad Skillz, Yo" when it comes to playing the guitar and has written several songs that she will be playing this dinner cycle, level 30 section A. Bring the kids for some good wholesome fun!

\-----

Low on troops? Suffering workforce shortages? Need to look popular on short notice? Or do you simply think most people on your planet could do with a good eviscerating? Why not try Demon Portals (tm), for all your Demony needs*!

*Disclaimer - Demon Portals may result in:

The laws of physics ceasing to apply.

Asperger helper

Your sector of space becoming an apocalyptic hellscape.

Restless cranium syndrome

Millions upon millions of ducks.

Mild Gigantism

An angry Demon poking its' head out to tell you it's busy before closing the portal.

Organ inversion

Possessed appliances

Hallucinations of the walls melting away into disintegrating ash. The sky will grow dark, with highlights of fire. The ground will buckle and crack. There will be the sound of Talons clicking all around you. Before you will stretch an unending path into decay, a path you will know you must walk, lest you fall and become entombed in the ever churning earth.

And itchy scalp.

Stop Summoning demons if your penis doubles in both girth and length, as this is a sign of a serious side effect.

A Seriously...-=AWESOME=- SIDE EFFECT!

High-5!

Demon Portals require a non-refundable blood sacrifice.

Satisfaction is not guaranteed.

Suitable for all ages.

\-----

Delta-884 dodged through the hail of gunfire. As the screaming sound of an incoming shell came down, he leaped and landed in a foxhole next to a pile of Kriegmen corpses. He noted one of the soldiers, while lacking his right eye, was still alive.

Omega-12 didn't do anything but let out a long sigh.

Delta-844 wiped some dust off himself as he checked for any breaks in his armor, "So what's the plan?"

Omega-12 looked somewhat bored, "We wait for the enemy to die."

Delta-844 snapped his gas mask around to stare at Omega-12, "Excuse me? We're not going to attack???"

Omega-12 shrugged, "Well, shooting them does seem to speed things up. But..."

Delta-844 started sounding annoyed, "But we can't do that if we're sitting here."

Omega-12 shrugged.

Delta-844 stared for a while, "So, how...?"

Omega-12 shrugged.

Delta-844 snorted, before spitting out the words, "You... coward!"

Delta-884 crouched so he could leap up out of the foxhole and charge. As soon as he reached the lip, he saw there was a crater right on the other side. In it were a number of bodies. Three of the traitors were wounded, unable to move around, but still alive.

Still holding weapons.

There wasn't a moment of hesitation. Two shotgun blasts vaporized Delta-884's head. The headless body tumbled back and fell onto the pile of corpses next to Omega-12. Omega-12 shook his head for a few moments before checking the fresh corpse for grenades. Finding none, he shrugged and sat back down to wait.

Delta-3901 tumbled into Omega-12's foxhole.

Omega-12 didn't do anything but let out a long sigh.

\-----

Entry Date: #ERROR#

To: General

We at the complaint queue department would like to apologize. The new guy didn't understand that complaints can be entered verbally as well as typed. All verbal complaints are converted to text for processing. That said, if you have the time to scream, "Nnnnnooooooooooooooooo..." before you die gurgling on your own blood, you certainly have the time to shout out a few words that may serve as a clue as to the nature of your complaint, and if you would be so kind, perhaps the cause of said complaint as well.

We thank you for your compliance in this matter. We at CQD look forward to serving you to the best of our abilities during these trying times.

\-----

Space Marine: Inquisitor we're surrounded!

Stormtrooper: We'll be overrun!

Inquisitor: We Need a Miracle

[Suddenly Krieg Grenadiers charge in to save the day]

Grenadier: Sorry we're late, Inquisitor, Gamma-3345 forgot his Shovel in the trench

[Gamma-3345 uses his shovel to beat a demon to death.]

Grenadier: Gamma-3345 really loves his shovel.

\-----

Entry Date: #ERROR#

To: General

Good News!

Shelia Brown's music has proven so popular that she has agreed to go on a Citadel wide tour playing all the dining areas. Expect her to be playing her new hit song, "It's always Darkest before the Don." at a dining hall near you! It is a tribute to "the Don" and his tragic end.

We all miss the Don who was so brutally taken from us.

I'm not ashamed to say, not only is it a catchy tune, but it brings a tear to my eye. If you knew The Don, like I knew The Don, I recommend you have a listen.

\-----

He awoke to bolt straight up in bed. He jerked his head around the barracks, but no one was around. The sound of orders given in Krieg battle cant could be heard drifting down the dusty, sandbag flanked stairwell. The light from above high lighted the shadows of people moving past.

Epsilon-228 touched his face, realizing that he has been sleeping in the nude. His gas mask was the first thing he grabbed. He struggled to get into his uniform and make sure it was properly sealed. He kept fumbling over his own fingers, getting tangled up as he tried to pull on his armor. It seemed to take forever. He felt a dull throb and touched his head. Things seemed a bit fuzzy.

He wasn't about to let a little head injury stop him.

He grabbed his lasgun as he headed out into the trenches. He started to move down the line. Nothing. He headed for the command bunker. He burst in, expecting everyone to be dead, but the officers were there, playing a card game with the inquisitor and his assistants. Epsilon-228 stared as they sat around drinking and gambling. The only one working was the vox operator. He looked up and said, "The 1st is at the wall."

The crowd at the table let out a yell and raised their mugs before getting back to the business of recreation.

Epsilon-228 was confused. He spoke much louder than he intended. It was like his mouth wasn't working right, "Sirs? What is going on? Is there an assault?"

The room went quiet. The ones at the table leaned forward to hunch over their cards. The lone light above the table shined down to cast shadows over their faces. None moved save the inquisitor. He stood up and leaned into the light, thus illuminating his wizened face. The cracks in his skin were deep fissures that crisscrossed the yellowing parchment that passed for skin. He spoke softly, "You missed the assault. Don't worry. You can go in the fourth wave... if we need it."

Epsilon-228 backed up, slowly shook his head. He over slept? No one woke him up?

He turned to flee out into the trenches. He ran to a ladder, paused, and then climbed up into no-mans-land. As he hauled himself up, the sounds of distant shelling were replaced with a constant tone that filled his ears. A ringing sound not unlike he heard once long ago when a shell went off next to him.

Everything was tinted red. The sky was full of rolling black clouds highlighted with red flashes. The clouds churned overhead far too fast to be natural. No-mans-land was flat. Featureless. Epsilon-228 started to run across the plain.

He saw things rising up into the sky. Wispy, transparent, blue-white version of his fellow guardsman rose up into the sky. A blindingly bright white light shined down from... somewhere. The wisps were drawn to it like moths to the flame.

Epsilon-228 felt like he could almost reach the light. It was so close. He reached up and felt his fingertips brush against something. A hand grabbed his shoulder from behind. He spun around as he pulled away, looking at the one who grabbed him.

An Adeptus Astartes stood there, naked. He was completely hairless and completely perfect. He was like a Greek statue of the idealized human form. He had never seen the man before. Or had he? It was hard to get a good look because a giant, blazing red giant filled half the sky, casting long, darting shadows as it silhouetted the man towering before him.

Epsilon-228 raised his hand to shield his eyes. The Adeptus spoke, but Epsilon-228 could only hear the ringing. The stares raised a hand and pointed at Epsilon-228. The warrior spoke three words, and while Epsilon-228 couldn't hear anything, he could read his lips easily enough.

I.

Curse.

You.

That was at this point Epsilon-228 woke up.

He tried to jump out of bed, but failed due to the pain. Instead he rose a foot only to collapse back into bed. He tried to get his bearings. The vision had passed, but the fear had not. Whatever he had just witnessed... it was terrifying.

And he knew... something... was very... very... very... WRONG.

Someone wearing the white gas mask of a medical personnel leaned over Epislon-228, "I'm afraid-" Epsilon-228 cut the attendant off in mid-sentence, "Stop." The medic paused and cocked his head, curious.

"Something is very wrong. What I need..." Epsilon-228 closed his eyes to gather his strength.

"What I need is for YOU...

to send for...

an inquisitor."

\-----

Entry Date: #ERROR#

To: Security

I don't know if you knew about the organic structure that was growing in level 6 air intake. Yes, that was a thing.

Well, it died. Alas, That isn't the problem. The problem is...

Something ate it.

The something must have been BIG because it sharpened its teeth on a permacrete support pillar, grinding said pillar into pieces in the process. We're not sure what could have resisted being absorbed by the organic structure, much less graze upon it, but damn if this incident hasn't got everyone in maintenance spooked.

We're not sure if this will be helpful, but the guys down in medical think it may have been a potato. Specifically, a russet, The meanest of potatoes. So be careful hunting it. They are known to be quite cunning, as well as unnecessarily cruel.

FYI, Zhofor has expressed a desire to have potato for lunch, so if you do see a potato roaming about, try to take it alive, or at least mostly intact.

\-----

Here at the Adeptus Administraum, We pride ourselves in a job well done. And our job is to investigate the ruins of Vraks.

Specifically, we are talking about the Vraksian traitors called the Digging 64th.

Apparently the Vraksian command decided that maybe they needed to think about tunneling to create a back up escape route very early on in the siege. The 64th Miners division was set to the task of digging down.

At first they encountered a large natural cavern water, which they set up for algae farms that also were used to scrub the art for breathing. This allowed them to stop drawing upon surface supplies as much, and helped with their downward spiral into the planet.

Then everyone forgot about them.

Over the years, the miners brought down their wives and families as set up settlements on the way down. By the time The Cardinal was summoning Chaos reinforcements, The Digging 64th had reached a depth of three miles. The group grew as rumors spread about the digging 64th and those who thought the Cardinal was a nutter, fled down into the spiraling depths to join this crew on its' quixotic quest.

We're not quite sure how they survived as long as they did. We suspect at some point they tunneled right into the Warp or something. It's the only explanation for the reports we found above the collapse. It showed sprawling tunnels and even had blocks of a sort. It is possible they were operating on orders from the Alpha Legion, but who knows anything for certain about the alpha legion?

What we do know is at some point the Forces of Nurgle noticed the digging 64th and realized how they could be put to more... productive ends...

...especially if they no longer needed to breathe.

\-----

Entry Date: #ERROR#

To: General

People continue to improperly use the complaint queue. We have been forced to take drastic measures. Three percent of the citadel has been scheduled to attend mandatory focus groups on how to improve the complaint queue. We appreciate your compliance in this matter, especially during these trying times.

\-----

Epsilon-228 turned his head to look out into the surrounding darkness. He shielded his eyes from the overhead light and saw he was in the 19th convalescence bunker. He had been here a few times before, but this was the first time he was alone in it. Only a single light shined down on him. He sat up and inched his way to the foot of his bed. This set off an alarm to alert the attending nurse.

There, at the foot of the bed, he found a trunk that in the past contained his equipment. This time, it was empty. The white gas mask of a Krieg medical technician came into view. With a cybernetic hand, the nurse closed the trunk, "Your equipment was too contaminated and needed to be destroyed. You need to return to bed."

Epsilon-228 put up no resistance. He was... fuzzy. Things were... disjointed. He felt like things were going out of sequence. Like he wasn't entirely... here.

While he tried to collect his thoughts, his head hit the pillow and he closed his eyes for a moment.

The click of the main doors to the bunker echoed through the room. He opened his eyes wondering how the nurse could have made it all the way to the end of the room in such a short amount of time.

The bunker seemed... larger than he remembered. Or maybe he was getting smaller. He laid there for a moment, letting the feeling of vertigo wash over him, then leaned out to grab a pillow from the bed next to him. Settling back, he held the pillow over his face and pressed hard.

The struggling to breathe through a pillow felt like wearing his gas mask again.

Soon, he fell asleep.

\-----

Entry Date: #ERROR#

To: general

Good News!

The Tzeentchian Scientists, after weeks of delicate work, have harvested enough heavy Memes to create their nearly perfected Fission-Fusion Memetic Warhead. This weapon should be able to annihilate entire regiments in a single blow without causing any damage to nearby infrastructure. We will need a Hell Drake to deliver the weapon, but that shouldn't be a problem.

So everyone can take heart for the end of the war against the hated enemy is almost neigh!

\-----

High Inquisitor Rex: "Forward men! and remember! Excessive casualties might cost us this entire campaign!"

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM

Rex: "oops!"

Squat guardsmen; (looks upon the dust of a fallen Titan) Well...that went as expected. (Writes in his logbook of grudges)

Kriegsmen: (sobs in his gas mask)

Cadian; Cheer up, mate. Chances are we're next.

Kriegsmen; (sniffs optimistically)

Bloodthirster Khornye West: "BLOOD for the BLOOD GOD!!! SKULLS for the SKULL THRONE!!! MILK for the KHORNE-FLAKES!!!

Kriegsman: [Peers at Khornye West as he starts to affix his bayonet]

\-----

Entry Date: #ERROR#

To: CQD

We figured out where the complaints were coming from. Someone left a VIK terminal on next to the Sanctified's sacrificial altar. Turning it off seems to have solved the problem. Hopefully the CQ won't crash anymore.

\-----

Epsilon-228 woke up with a start. Someone was shaking his shoulder. The pillow on his face was gone. His gown was a different color. He blinked and stared at the white gas mask of the nurse, "what?"

"You have visitors." The medical technician replied, before saluting to the two standing in the darkness. The nurse exited the light, the two stepped into it.

He remembered he still didn't have a gas mask on. He felt vulnerable. Exposed. His hands went to his face for a moment to cover it in shame. He noticed he had quite a growth on his face. At least several days, perhaps a week had gone by without shaving.

He lowered his hands when he realized how silly he was being.

His vision was still a bit fuzzy, especially because of the two visitors remaining on the edge of the only pool of light in the bunker. He noted the great coat of an officer. High ranking one. Engineer... by the looks of it. The other was easier to make out. The unmistakable white and red robes of the inquisition.

Epsilon-228 tried to salute, but too many tubes were in his arms. The officer held up a hand flat, palm out to indicate he should remain still. So he did. The Inquisitor spoke.

"First. In regards to your claim to be cursed and your request for the Emperor's mercy..."

Epsilon-228 blinked, ~When did I request that?~ Although, in retrospect, the request seemed obvious.

The Inquisitor continued, "Denied." He tilted his head back just enough to stare down his nose at the guardsman, "No taint of chaos has been found upon you, despite your encounter with the plague marine. In fact... I have good news."

Epsilon-228 narrowed his eyes. Somehow... he doubted this news would actually be good. A lump started to grow in the pit of his stomach.

"We consulted the Emperor's tarot. We got... an interesting result. So we consulted with Lord Thor Malkin who confirmed it."

The Krieg officer next to the inquisitor shifted from side to side in obvious discomfort. He clearly did not want to be here. The lump of dread growing in Epsilon-228's stomach was increasing in density, getting heavier by the moment.

The Inquisitor smiled with far too many teeth, "You appear to be favored by the emperor."

Epsilon-228 sat up in bed with enough force to threaten to tear loose the wires attached to him, "WHAT????"

The Officer recoiled half a step. To any one else, it might seem he was taken off guard my the outburst. To a man of Krieg, it was as if he just screeched in terror... like a scared little girl.

The inquisitor continued, oblivious to the subtleties of the situation, "Indeed! He has great plans for you. We have not seen a reading this favorable since... well... Since Drusus." He stepped closer into the light, placing a hand on Epsilon-228's shoulder and easing him back onto the bed, "And he became a living saint, don't you know?"

The lump in Epsilon-228's stomach had under gone gravitational collapse and was now draining all the life out of him. He went pale and felt his strength leave him. He weakly started to protest, "But I am a man of Krieg. No-"

The Inquisitor cut him off, the smile fading and a look of building annoyance to take its' place, "ENOUGH! I know of the Cult of Sacrifice! I know what you believe! But we are the inquisition and we know the will of the God-Emperor a might bit better then you imagine, so I suggest you just accept what I have said!" He then straightened up and returned to a calm... controlled expression, "Yes... yes... supposedly no man of Krieg has ever received a blessing from the emperor since your world rejoined the Imperium." He made a condescending and dismissive hand gesture, "There's a first time for everything."

The officer took this point to jump into the conversation, "Epsilon-228. You were wounded and have been wavering in and out of consciousness for several weeks now. During that time period, the entire 19th has been recalled. You are the last of your regiment on Vraks."

Epsilon-228 stared at the officer, then felt that maybe he had been given a way out... a way off of Vraks, "So... I am to be transferred?"

The officer looked unhappy as he replied, "No. Too much effort. So, you shall be transferred to The Engineer corp. We have lost many men and replacements will not be coming for quite some time. And... given your recent record and... 'Independent Nature'" The officer could not has added more derision to those two words if he tried, "It has been determined you would be a better fit for the engineers."

Before Epsilon-228 could protest, the office continued, "You will receive training on the job. Besides The Inquisition recommends it. Something... in the cards. So whatever the Emperor has need of you for... it appears to be on Vraks."

The rest of the briefing became a blur. His tinnitus had returned and the words were growing harder to make out. The feeling of vertigo returned. He blinked and suddenly the two had left. He was alone in the only pool of light in the entire bunker. Still sitting up. He looked around, confused by the time jump, then fell back letting his head hit his pillow. He stared into the light above him until his eyes were filled with glowing dots. After images of the light stacked upon after images, burned into his retina.

He didn't know what to think, to feel, to hope, or even wish. This was too much, too fast.

All he knew was, ~I will follow my orders and put my trust in the emperor.~

It brought him little comfort, but he clung to this thought like a drowning man because when he closed his eyes, the after images started to swirl and reform into a certain Adeptus Astartes.

The memory of his nightmare replayed over and over in his mind.

  1. CURSE. YOU.
  2. Curse. You.
  3. curse. you...



i...

curse...

you...

\-----

Entry Date: #ERROR#

To: Security

The Slaaneshian Jerkification Apparatus has been built to specifications, however, finding a steady source of long pig may prove problematic. Apparently it only works on living subjects, and that's throwing a huge wrench in the works. We are considering going out to capture Krieg guardsmen, but we just tossed our last crate into the void shield generator facility and are out of time.

If anyone has any suggestions, now would be a good time to speak up.

\-----

The Grey Knight Chapter commander sighed and drummed his fingers on the table on which he had a number of reports scattered about. The Apothecary walked into the tent and looked concerned, "Sir? Is there a problem?"

The Commander looked up, "I think we've been hanging around the men of Krieg too much."

The Apothecary tilted his head in silent query and waited for his commander to continue. The commander reached forward and picked up a file, "Incident report from Nicholas. When asked for a situational update the reply was, 'SACRIFICCCCEEE!'"

He dropped the file on the table and picked up another, "Our logistics office was asked how the weather was looking for today's battle and the reply was, 'CHARRRGEEE'"

The apothecary was about to comment when a messenger rushed in, "Sir! The assault has begun! How do we proceed?"

The Commander jumped up from his seat and shouted, "AFFIX BAYONETS!!!" The messenger, taken aback, spent a good minute trying to figure out if this was a real order or not.

The apothecary's head started turning to the side while staring at the commander. His face had a look that screamed, 'WTF?'

The commander paused as it sunk in what he had just shouted, then facepalmed.

\-----

Epsilon-228 was surprised to discover he wasn't being sent underground.

That's typically what you thought of, as far as the job of an engineer was concerned. A tunneling fool burrowing his way towards something to blow up. He figured he'd be assigned to swing a pick axe, because how hard could that be? Instead he was put on a road crew.

Normally being someone who builds a road wouldn't sound that dangerous. I mean, you are just pouring asphalt or using a shovel to remove rocks or fill in holes. Not that big of a deal, right?

Except on Vraks building a road was an incredibly dangerous activity.

Even where you weren't getting shelled, the need for roads and bridges were often where the sudden downpours of torrential rain caused the most risk. Even if the gully you were bridging wasn't under a thunderstorm at the time, rain far off in the distance could channel a flash flood and wash you away. There were no plants to hold anything together on the surface, thus mud slides and collapses were common.

Of course this wasn't half as dangerous as trying to build a road that can support a tank up the side of a hill while you are being shelled.

That was his new job. Building roads into contested areas.

To be honest they gave him this job because it was MUCH easier then tunneling and if he screwed up, he was more likely to be the only one who died, as opposed to taking out an entire length of a tunnel and kill dozens. Maybe hundreds.

Besides, he was assigned to the most hazardous road crew on the planet. Chances are he would dead before he finished his first assignment. As far as the officers were concerned, the whole "Epsilon-228 Issue" would be solved by the end of the day. Just one itsy bitsy tinnie weenie but ever so crucial detail...

Epsilon-228 didn't die.

Neither did he die the next day.

Nor the day after that.

Nor the week after that.

Nor the month after THAT.

Not that it was for a lack of trying, mind you. The unofficial word was if you had a suicide mission, you sent Epsilon-228 on it. Not that the Death Korp of Krieg was particularly kind to its' engineers, but for an army made up of millions of soldiers each with a death wish, Epsilon-228's assignments were, how shall we put it...?

"Rough"

Epsilon-228 had almost supernatural luck. A withering hail of gunfire would silhouette him, destroying his gun, but leaving him unharmed. Explosions would knock him out cold. On two separate occasions his entire squad was killed except for him. Once they walked into a mine field. He volunteered to walk out. If he made it, they'd know which path was safe. If he didn't, well, that was one land mine down.

Epsilon-228 made it out safely. However, a mine he had walked over didn't detonate for him, but did for the rest of his squad. The chain reaction left bits of Krieg Engineer all over the landscape.

The second time was after an alpha legion infiltrator poisoned a number of MREs. Except it was a binary agent and Epsilon accidentally spilled the water. He only ate half the poison and survived.

That was something else that was odd. He should have gotten a new name. As soon as he joined the engineers they should have given him a new shoulder guard with a new designation. They claimed it was delayed at logistics, when the truth was his superiors never bothered to order him a new one. They expected him to be dead before his first day was out.

The longer it went unchanged, the harder it became to justify getting him a new shoulder guard.

In a way, the officers wanted him to keep his old designation. It made it easier to keep track of him. No one else was an Epsilon in the Engineers. It helped to make him stand out. Easier to SINGLE him out.

However, as time passed, it began to backfire. Word got out that he was "favored by the emperor." There were those who thought he should be shot as such a man could not exist. Then there were those who were treating him with almost religious awe.

The number who felt the later were growing as those who thought he should be shot became increasingly convinced it wouldn't do any good.

Nobody dodges as many bullets as Epsilon-228. Not without divine intervention.

Of course, in the cult of sacrifice, surviving was not necessarily a good thing. So few felt envy for Epsilon, most just kept their distance. You see, the "forgiven one" might be a survivor, but those who went out with him were not. It wouldn't be half as bad a thing if he actually succeeded in his goals. Somehow, no matter how hard he tried, Epsilon-228 would fail to achieve his objective, either because it became impossible to finish, or the supplies would blow up, or the reason for building the road would disappear when the fighting shifted.

Depending on how you saw it, going out with him was cursed to failure, or a promise that you would finally get to meet the emperor.

Which brings us back to the fact he wouldn't die.

You see, in the Engineers, getting "promoted" isn't easy. Usually it involves being the one who lived the longest. Whomever survives the most suicidal assignments is clearly the best choice for leading others into said suicidal assignments. The problem is, the engineer leadership was flat out terrified of Epsilon-228.

They had been trying very, very HARD to kill him. They also knew that Epsilon-228 wasn't actually trying to survive. This wasn't a coward. This was a dedicated man of Krieg who took his orders and tried his best to fulfill them. Perhaps a little TOO well. He was showing signs of zealotry. He was the first to rush out into enemy gunfire. The first to run across a mind field. The first to dash out to retrieve misplaced equipment. What's more his attempts to get killed usually resulted from "creatively interpreting" his orders to take the maximum risk.

He was just... lucky.

Theologically, he was a heretical hiccup in the Cult of Sacrifice.

No one on Krieg deserved forgiveness. NO ONE. Yet here was a man of Krieg who seemed to be blessed by the God-Emperor himself complete with Inquisitorial approval. The inquisition might not have a problem with what Epsilon-228 represented, but the theologists of Krieg could not accept him. His very presence threatened to destroy the foundation of Krieg Society. He simply could NOT be allowed to return to Krieg. In death was the only way to be forgiven. If a man of Krieg was forgiven in any way that did not involve death, it would shatter the faith of every person on Krieg.

People might not see the cult of sacrifice to be the one true way. Without the cult of sacrifice, the armies of Krieg cannot function. Every single military doctrine has at its' foundation the cult of sacrifice. In short, the Inquisition may see him as a blessing from the God-Emperor, but the Krieg Commanders saw him as the single greatest threat to Krieg since the Council of Autocrats.

In Epsilon-228 defense, he did not disagree with them. However, as a loyal krieg soldier, he could not just take it upon himself to blow his own brains out, not without direct orders, and the Command staff were not willing to take that final step and flat out defy the inquisition by ordering his death. They too were men of Krieg and followed orders. Even if those orders involved the complete destruction of very foundation of Krieg Society.

They were now in a bind. The military had strict rules on how to handle promotion and like it or not, Epsilon-228 was due. This was not a problem they could keep kicking down the road. He simply had survived too many times and if he's promoted, well... it will be even harder to get him killed in the line of duty. And then he'll get promoted again... and again... and if he survived to the end of the war...

And so it came to pass at one of the regular meetings of the field commanders where they gathered to discuss strategy that the topic of Epsilon-228 came up. The conversation ground to a halt. Each one knew the impossible situation they were in and how there seemed to be no way out. In the silence, one officer leaned forward and turned off the recorder on the servo-skull. The room went silent as they all looked at him, expectantly. It was against the regulations to turn off the recorder, but for this topic, the others were willing to overlook this infraction, depending on what he said next. The officer only spoke three words, slowly, softly, and heavy with implications.

The.

Hell.

Vein.

\-----

Entry Date: #ERROR#

To: Administration

While the Fission-Fusion Memetic Warhead was being transported to the airfield for delivery via access shaft B, one of the crew transporting the weapon started whistling "It's always darkest before the Don".

Unfortunately the viral memetic nature of this song resulted in it contaminating the heavy memes within the warhead. This caused a chain reaction that would eventually run out of control, detonate, and kill everyone in the citadel.

Fortunately Supply Officer Rod was on the job. His quick thinking saved everyone when he noticed the readouts reporting the cascade failure inside the Warhead's reaction chamber. He pressed the glowing red button with the Symbol of Tzeentch on it, thus causing the Elevator to stop and open the doors into an apocalyptic hellscape full of Tzeentchian demons.

Those demons were rather surprised when the crew abruptly shoved the Fission-Fusion Memetic Warhead out the door and hit the override to immediately close the doors, thus saving the Citadel from complete destruction. There is a downside. We think we may have accidentally, and quite unintentionally, nuked The Realm of Tzeentch.

As for Tzeentch, We haven't been able to contact him for comment, but he seems like a tough old bird. We're sure he'll be fine.

\-----

The Hell Vein.

That was the unofficial name for the series of counter tunnels on the north western part of the curtain wall. Most of the earth on Vraks is actually quite nasty, but one section was particularly easy to tunnel, hence why so many underground storage areas had been dug there. This included the infamous armory 55-46. There were quite a few armories in that particular sector and every last one had been wielded shut, the air vents filled with permacrete, and TP3 pumped in to give those trapped inside the most horrible of deaths.

Unfortunately, on a planet being taken over by Nurgle cultists, consigning tens of thousands of people to a horrible, painful, agonizing death via chemical attack, isn't the best of ideas.

About a year after the armories had been dealt with, monitoring devices that had been left in the area, most all but forgotten, detected the sound of digging.

It was slow... faint... but persistent. At first they didn't know what to make of it. Someone finally put two and two together and came up with the impossible. Since the impossible has been made possible on Vraks with alarming regularity, they figured they needed to confirm if this was indeed happening.

Eventually someone ordered the use a mole gun to send a bomb with a camera attached down and see what was happening. This took a while to convince command to allow. It was command's position that it wasn't possible that anyone was still alive down there.

As it turns out, they were right.

Some how the remains of those who died returned to some semblance of activity. Not as the zombies wandering the eastern front. Oh no. The Krieg engineers couldn't be THAT lucky. These things returned as skeletons wreathed in TP3 gas as a replacement for the flesh they were missing. They didn't use tools to dig. They couldn't. Any tool they held would disintegrate. What they could do was slowly dissolve the rock by driving their fingers into it, then tear a chunk of rock away, only to toss it over their shoulders.

If they had been a bit more careful with how they were disposing of the rubble, the sensors never would have picked up anything.

The mole bomb went off and thankfully put an end to that particular tunnel to the surface, which was a good thing. The bad thing is that is was THAT... particular... tunnel. They dropped listening devices all over the area, picking up a second tunnel... and a third. What terrified command staff was, 'Are there any tunnels where these things are smart enough to keep quiet?'

Hence the need for counter tunnels. They had to get down there and catch these things as they tunneled up before they got anywhere near the surface. Nothing short of complete disintegration stopped these things. If a skull with one arm still attached survived, it would slowly worm its way to the surface. Which one managed to do. Once on the surface, it proved remarkably quick and hauled itself over to a nearby staging ground for a unit of Shadowswords.

Two tanks were damaged, and third rendered completely unsalvageable due to TP3 contamination.

Whatever they were, they regenerated their TP3, but only as a replacement for skin. Any attempts to harvest this perpetual source of TP3 failed. Most are unsure if that is a good or a bad thing.

Very quickly men were sent back down into the original tunnel to reopen it and start to make new tunnels that would branch off. The goal was to create a series of monitoring tunnels that could be used to detect these things as they tried to make it to the surface. Originally it was thought that stealth was unimportant, so they used heavy digging equipment to set up the network. However, these things were drawn to the vibrations of the diggers and two tunneler machines were lost before command decided that it was too big of a risk and withdrew all the heavy equipment.

The tunnels would have to be dug by hand.

Due to the nature of the enemy, these tunnels became remarkably hazardous. If the enemy broke into a tunnel, they would go after men, equipment, and support beams. If they collapsed a section, anyone in that section would die a horrible death. Men would eventually request and be granted suicide vests lined with high explosives. The death toll was horrific for an area that was already "taken" by the Death Korp.

Which is why it had been given the unofficial nickname of The Hell Vein. The Hell Vein didn't pump blood. Hell itself flowed through its' halls.

Epsilon-228's commander understood perfectly what was being proposed. The rest of the officers all looked at each other, then turned to the officer who turned off the servo-skull. He was the officer who was in charge of The Hell Vein. Ultimately he would be responsible for Epsilon-228 and if this went wrong, the one who took the fall.

He looked back at all of them, closed his eyes, then nodded once.

The rest did nothing, but words did not need to be exchanged. Quietly, one of the officers reached forward and turned the Servo-skull back on. The meeting proceeded as if nothing happened.

Later, Epsilon-228 would find himself promoted and transferred. He was being sent to a monitoring unit that he would take command of. His job would be to lead a team down into the tunnels as they maintained the monitoring devices, as well as intercept any enemy incursions near or into the tunnel monitoring network.

On paper, it seemed easy.

Epsilon-228 knew, in reality, this was a death sentence.

As he reread his new orders, this fact became blindingly obvious.

Under his gas mask, he allowed himself a smile.

~Finally...~ Epsilon-228 thought to himself, ~Some GOOD luck for a change!~

\-----

Entry Date: #ERROR#

To: Security

We understand the sudden mutation and subsequent rampage of Service worker Kip in the Level 12 Area E Dining Hall took everyone by surprise, but that was no reason to unload a mega-bolter into the dining area. Let's ignore the fact you guys had a Mega-Bolter on level 12 in the first place. Do you realize we will be squeegeeing out the mess hall for weeks? In the future please:

\- Try to take anyone who has mutated... ALIVE... so we can drug it up and throw it at the enemy.

\- If someone does mutate, call it "A blessing from the gods". Do not scream, "What the unholy fuck is that thing?" and unload all your ammunition into it. Use of profanity is against the security force code of conduct. Also you are wasting ammunition and more then likely just making it angry.

\- If anyone asks why you aren't trying to kill a particular multi-tentacle monstrosity as it eats people, please inform them, "This is for your convenience and to provide you with a better citadel experience." With any luck, between seeing a writhing mass of 'That-Which-Should-Not-Be' and the cognitive dissidence of being told that tentacle rape brings about a better tomorrow, they'll go completely insane and thus any claims of witnessing rampaging tentacle monsters will be easier to dismiss.

As for the three yahoos who actually shot up the place, guess what? You guys are now on mapping detail. While the main corridors seem to remain stable, we're getting some drift in the lower levels, so get down there and find out where all the rooms on level 66 ran off to.

\-----

Tyborc: BEGIN THE BOMBARDMENT!

Cannonade Commander: But sir, that's right on top of your position!

Tyborc: DID I STUTTER?? Don't stop until I return! (To men) AFFIX BAYONETS!

\-----

Entry Date: #ERROR#

To: Administration

So for the past week all the followers of Tzeentch claim they no longer can hear the constant torrent of their god and master's constant chattering of dark and forbidden lore. At first, most welcomed the respite from the unrelenting madness, but as time has been passing, they seem to be getting a bit punchy.

It isn't helping that not only aren't any of the demon summoning rituals for Tzeentch working, but also anyone who fails to properly summon a Tzeentch demon isn't turning into a chaos spawn.

I guess what I'm getting at is, nobody should mention to these guys we nuked Tzeentch. I just think it'll be better for everyone all around if we just wait this out.

\-----

Entry Date: #ERROR#

To: Security

I want to apologize to citadel security. We shouldn't have made the assumption you knew what a potato was. The fact that you captured several "potatoes" is commendable, however, none of those were potatoes. In fact, we suspect you may have grabbed anyone you stumbled across who you thought wouldn't be missed.

While it might have helped provide a sense of closure, we'd prefer you actually do your job and find the potato.

A potato is a tuber and covered with eyes. It sometimes has little wiggly things growing out of it. Hope that narrows it down for you.

\-----

Krieg guardsman: Go to Vrax they said, die for the Emperor they said, it will be fun they said.

[Out of the poisonous fog charges a line of Khornate berserkers]

Krieg guardsman: THEY WERE RIGHT!

[happy gas mask noises]

\-----

Entry Date: #ERROR#

TO: Administration

I don't know who did it, but if I find out which one of you spilled the beans, I'm going to add your skull to the skull throne personally.

On the upside, the Tzeentchians didn't go ballistics. They did become catatonic. Most are just hugging their knees and rocking back and forth. Although one guy is carving a wooden model space ship with a potato peeler... using his left hand instead of a block of wood. It's a bit terrifying how life like it is.

So, FYI, the Tzeentchians are basically useless right now. Hope we don't need them for anything.

\-----

Inquisitor: Good news, men! The citadel will be bombarded to ruins before we get to assault it!

[unhappy gasmask murmurs]

Inquisitor: However, the bad news is that 75% of the citadel lies underground, meaning we will have to fight for every meter of ground we take in a seemingly endless underground labyrinth of death that would make Daedalus fall to his knees and weep with despair.

[Muffled cheering! Bayonet air punches]

\-----

Entry Date: #ERROR#

To: General

People have not been attending their assigned mandatory focus group sessions. This cannot be tolerated any longer. All citizens not in the military are now required to attend one of the mandatory focus group meetings to discuss and figure out a way to improve mandatory focus group attendance.

\-----

Entry Date: #ERROR#

To: Administration.

Guess what?

Tzeentch is back. Apparently he faked his death as part of a ruse. Why? Because "Muh Master Plan".

Just... Sigh.

\-----

Lord Inquisitor Rex: "Have no uncertainty, in this final battle, you will make the ultimate sacrifice. You will give all for the empire.

Krieg Guardsman Phi-201 to Phi-7600: "I told you I liked this guy."

Phi-7600: Isn't that the wacky dude who wanted to spare us oceans of blood?

Phi-773 butts into the conversation: You mean, he's the guy who wanted to spare us a day on an ocean beach.

[All the Krieg guardsmen in the squad start to snicker and chuckle.]

\-----

Entry Date: #ERROR#

To: Administration

I'm not quite sure how to even report this.

So the left over High Energy Cheese was stood in a freezer on level 30 section G. Apparently it was stored with several blocks of cheese. Well, during the shelling last week the power went out to that particular freezer unit and it all melted. Well... some how... the cheese went into a feeding frenzy and ate all the High Energy Cheese Food.

Yes. I know what that sounds like. I saw the security footage. That is exactly what happened.

The cheese then gnawed its' way out of the freezer and proceeded to murder the entire kitchen staff for level 30 section F dining hall. Fortunately nobody was eating at the time. The cheese then escaped into the ventilation system.

So. To Review...

A pack of very aggressive blocks of cheddar are wandering about the ventilation system seeking chaos knows what.

\-----

Boid: Hey, S'sithilis?

S'sithilis: Yeah, Boid?

B: Uh... Good job on those Brass Scorpions. But... well.. the guys wanted to know something.

S: Yeah?

B: Aren't they supposed to have stingers?

S: Yup.

B: They don't have stingers.

S: Yup.

B: At the end of each tail is a goat head.

S: Yup.

B: ... Okay. I'm going to ask... why?

S: A goat head on the end of a brass tail? That's scary!

B: Yeah but... S'sith? Ummm... A poisonous spike is more scary.

S: No it's not.

B: Uh yes. Yes it is.

S: You EXPECT a stinger on a brass scorpion, but a goat head? You'd be all... Wha? and wonder what the hell is up with that thing.

B: Yeah... there is the psychological aspect of it but-

S: And they spit.

B: They spit poison?

S: No. Normal spit. But they are very accurate with it.

B: Look. I understand that you-

S: Goats can eat anything!

B: ... Really?

S: Yup.

B: So... these goat heads can eat through power armor.

S: Well... no. No not really. But Tin cans? Not a problem. And grass as well. They are a terror of lawns EVERYWHERE.

B: This is Vraks. There's no grass on Vraks.

S: Oh.

B: What the fuck, S'sith.

S: [mumbles]

B: What?

S: I ran out of BRASS, Okay. I forgot to make stingers and I used all the brass on Brass Scorpions. So... I needed to put something up there.

B: What about a gun?

S: A what?

B: Gun. You could have put a gun up there. We got thousands of them.

S: Oh. Well... I didn't have any guns at the time. I had goats.

B: Look. Come here. To the railing. Look down. Look at that Brass Scorpion. How are we supposed to-

[The Brass Scorpion down in the assembly pit pointed its' goat head at the exit. Beams of ruby light lanced out of goat head's eyes and burned a hole in the door. The Brass Scorpion strolled out of the assembly area and proceeded to wander off, randomly attacking people it stumbled across.

S: Oh. Yeah. Forgot they could do that.

B: Ooooo-kay. Maybe we CAN work with this.

\-----

Entry Date: #ERROR#

To: General

Nobody showed up at the last three mandatory focus group sessions. What? Do you think I'm a joke? Well, let's see how funny it is when I shut down all the washrooms everywhere except for the ones that can only be accessed by walking through the mandatory focus group session meeting rooms.

Who's a dickless wonder NOW, Frankel? HUH? WHO'S THE DICKLESS WONDER NOW???

\-----

FILE DESIGNATION: MAMO-090019

STATUS: SEALED

CURATOR: Inquisitor Gotterdammerung.

SOURCE: Vraks - Capital

Have you ever thought about your soul? What is its' purpose? What exactly does it do?

Well, I can't answer those questions, but I can tell you what it's made of. A soul consists of experiences and memories. Back in my day, they would say it was made up of eidolons. Individual nuggets of knowledge. A soul is made up of the many slivers of both thoughts and feelings that we experience. These are the very building blocks of who we are.

If a soul is made up of eidolons, is each eidolons alone a soul? In a word, yes. While the majority of what makes you, "you", has a form of continuous continuity, individual bits and pieces of your soul are born, live, and die.

Ever had that eureka moment when a new idea was born? The cusp of creation? The realization of your concept as it crystallizes into usable and practical form? There's nothing quite like it, is there?

Think of it this way:

Take a broom made of straw. Sweep a floor with it. Some of the straw will eventually fall off. You replace it. Eventually enough straw will have fallen off that there is no longer any original straw. As time passes, you eventually will need to change the binding that is holding the straw on the handle.

Now let us say you had an accident and broke the handle. The straw and binding are still good, so you get a new handle and switch it over.

At this point, not a single part of the original broom remains. So the question is, is it still your broom?

Of course it is. And like the broom, we replace eidolons all the time. Some are easier to exchange than others, but in the end, it's all us, even if at some point the soul we possess no longer has any of its original parts.

This is what turning into a Demon Prince is all about. Replacing the parts gradually over time so that you are still the same broom.

Replace your parts too quickly, and you become a chaos spawn.

Has anyone ever told you that someone's career was died? Ever witness the end of an era? There is a point when you know, "what you know" is not long for this world. The problem is we don't always understand when it's time to let go. The feeling of loss. The anxiety over change. It muddies the water and clouds one's judgment.

When that happens it's the job of followers of Nurgle to make sure the expired idea finds its' way to its final destination.

"Why?" you may ask?

Because when a person holds onto an idea long past its best before date, bad things occur. Oh, we all have a tolerance for a certain amount of grist, but over time, residue builds up and weighs one down.

Like grit in the gears. Like sand in a shoe.

Ever pined over someone long after the relationship ended? Have others told you that the party was over, yet you refused to leave? Have you ever met someone reliving his glory days? A man-child who never grew up? Never moved on?

Side note, we have a standing reward for any information leading to the capture of Peter Pan. Restrictions may apply. The Void is prohibited.

From time to time, when the life of an eidolon is over, we cling to its corpse. We hold on past the point of usefulness. Such an eidolon winds up pulling you down. A dying concept can, unfortunately, take its owner with it, dragging one out of the lands of the living into what we like to call in the business, the after-life.

Not to be confused with the after-death. They are two totally different states of being. Those who have achieved the state of "after-life" may still walk among the living. They simply are no longer experiencing life, but instead existing in a quasi-state of being. The unliving, as is the common parlance these day.

There are those of us who have dedicated ourselves to assisting people in just such a situation. We encourage the unliving to let things go. With words, at first. More... forcefully... if the situation gets out of hand. Sometimes it's time to move on and that's what Grandfather gurgle does. He helps those who need to move on, move on. His methods may appear harsh, but the alternative is far worse.

Not all, of course. Some people can find that proper balance.

Some know how to maintain the broom.

Some are worthy of becoming a servant of gurgle.

RULING: Archive single copy to paper storage in maximum security inquisitorial book repository. Destroy original and all other copies of heretical document.

\-----

Entry Date: #ERROR#

To: Maintenance

We are getting complaints that the intercoms are bleeding. Most of the complaints seem to be about how they cannot use the intercom without getting splattered with blood, and that coherent conversations don't seem to be possible when this happens. Apparently all speech is converted into "the demon tongue". This was apparently a new upgrade patch installed by our dark mechanicum allies. We have told them about the problems it is causing and as per their requests, filled out a work ticket. We suspect this may just be a stall tactic. Especially since we pull that shit all the time.

Other complaints include: the blood is quite stale, bereft of life force, and just doesn't taste right.

Since this malfunction is compromising internal citadel communications, we expect you will make fixing this a top priority.

\-----

Officer: Gunner, your barrel is steaming.

Gunner: I know, sir. one more, men!

Officer: Gunner the barrel is getting red

Gunner: I know, sir. one more, men!

Officer: Damn it, its glowing white hot,

Gunner: I know, sir. one more, men!

Officer: GUNNER! STOP FIRING THAT GUN!

Gunner: I know, sir. one more, men!

Officer: What? SOLDIER! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?

Gunner: I know, sir. one more, men!

It was at this point the Officer discovered that the gunner he was speaking to was stone cold deaf and had been for over a day now. His last order was to keep firing and that's just what he intended to do.

Alas, the officer never got a chance to do anything with this new found knowledge because at that precise moment, the shell they just rammed into the breach cooked off

The small hill the heavy artillery was on vanished in a fireball launching the barrel straight at the fortress. Ironically, it was this exact moment the void shields collapsed and the barrel passed right through where the void shield had once been completely unimpeded.

The barrel rammed itself into the side of a citadel tower like a spear thrown by a giant. On the inside of the tower, the barrel came through the wall in a shower of permacrete, the barrel coming to a halt directly in the path of Lord Arkos of Alpha Legion.

Standing there, staring at the massive gun barrel that would surely have decapitated him if it had hit but one second later, the leader of Alpha legion became thoughtful. Through the barrel itself came the echoing sounds of outside battle as the shelling raised to a crescendo. Arkos raised his eyebrows and took a deep breath as he came to an inevitable conclusion.

~Too bad we can't stay~

\-----

Entry Date: #ERROR#

To: Security

A special thanks to Supply officer Rod! Rod came up with the idea of taking the Jerkification Apparatus, which is basically an oversized coffin on wheels, rolling it into the void shield generator facility, explaining how it works to the jerk addicts, then running away.

At first they used the hostages as raw material, but once they no longer had to "ration" the Bacon Jerky, they all just dug right in. They burned through the hostages in less than an hour. After approximately 90 minutes, when they ran out of bacon jerky, they demanded more people or they would blow up the void generators. We called their bluff and waited, pretending the com-line was down. Again, thank Rod for coming up with the idea of playing an infinite loop of hold music as a stall tactic.

Within 5 minutes they picked one of their own to toss in the Jerkification Apparatus.

It only took another 5 hours for them to finish themselves off, devouring each other in a feeding frenzy. In the end, the last one standing died trying to shove bacon jerky down his throat with the handle of a push broom. A hazmat team was sent in to gather up all the bacon jerky, as well as the corpses of the bacon jerky filled terrorists, and transported the lot of it to the hazardous material containment area, where the whole kit and caboodle would be burned for the safety of all.

The Jerkification Apparatus has been placed in the maximum security armory on level 99 section Z... just in case we need it again.

\-----

Auspex technician: Sir, the void shields are holding.

Krieg Officer: Affix bayonets!

[From inside the citadel, Zhufor watches a regiment charge the Void shields with bayonets. One of his advisors starts to chuckle.]

Zhufor: Something funny?

Advisor: Isn't it? They are charging a void shield with bayonets!

Zhufor: And what part is funny?

Advisor: Sir, it's a bayonet. I mean, what could you possibly do with a bayonet?

[Zhufor stares at the advisor for but a moment, before he reaches down to his trophy belt. Plucking off a Krieg Guardsmen's Bayonet, one of the hardest trophies Zhufor ever had to fight for, he abruptly stabs the advisor in the throat.]

[The advisor goes down gurgling, staring up with wide eyes at Zhufor, who doesn't even bother to watch him die. Instead, Zhufor focusing on the battle unfolding on his view screen.]

[A moment before the advisor dies, Zulkor quietly answers the question, making that answer the last word the advisor will hear before his soul goes screaming into the warp.]

"That."

\-----

"Hey Meeks. How DID you get to be in charge of maintenance?"

Meeks was sitting down at his work bench. He had cleared out a space to arrange his lunch. Not just the usual MRE, but one of the rare pastries that sometimes popped up on the black market. A real treat: Algae Food Cake.

Light, fluffy, completely without flavor, and green.

You might ask yourself why something flavorless was a "treat". Because in the Citadel, food usually only came in just one flavor: Bad. Now to eat something with a pleasant texture that was inoffensive to the tongue, that's something worth paying extra for.

Meeks was a man of ritual. To the point of OCD. A fact that has saved his life more than once. This quality is what made the man, arguably, the most qualified and well trained technician in the citadel. He took to eating his algae food cake the same way he handled fixing equipment or repairing structural damage. Ritualistically. It is this same quality that made him react poorly to interruptions. He hated breaks in his routine and this guy was breaking his routine.

Meeks slowly turned on this fool and prepared to give him the infamous Meeks' death stare while pointedly twirling his fork over his cake. It only took a second for Meeks to realize why this was pointless.

It was the new guy, Loam, and he was practically blind.

Mutations had been cropping up quite a bit, as of late, and Loam was one of the many beneficiaries of said mutation. Made his eyes bigger. The problem is, it did nothing for the focusing of his eyes and while he could now practically see in the dark, he was nearsighted as Hell.

Actually, a bit of an advantage when it came to working on machines. If he could get within a few feet of something, he could see the most minute of details. Alas, this also rendered him immune to the Meeks' Death Stare.

Being ocularly challenged also kept him off the front lines. Normally Zhufor would snatch someone like Loam right up to throw at the enemy, but Loam was sort of off putting. His proportions were all wrong and people took pity on him. So what with replacement workers being hard to come by, Meeks had to take what he could get.

Meeks finally replied, "Well... that's a long story so-"

Loam plopped down on a crate next to the workbench, "Great! I've got nothing to do until my shift starts!" Meeks stared into those big eyes hoping for some inspiration for ending this interruption, but eventually, with a heavy sigh, he relented.

"Fine." He said pushing the mini cake away from him into the little cake hutch he had made for parking cakes until he could eat them. He swiveled in his chair to look into those doe-like eyes, "I got appointed. The End."

Loam snorted like it was a joke, "Good one!" and tried to punch Meeks lightly in the shoulder. He went wide by a mile, "But seriously. I'm trying to find my place here and it might help if I knew how you got to where you are."

Meeks stroked back his left eyebrow exactly seven times before he continued, "Well, I was always in maintenance. Even before the whole revolt thing. Honestly didn't notice it happened for almost a week. Some of the deeper parts of the citadel are really isolated and it's a bit of a hike to do a complete survey of a level. Can be dangerous. Especially when you get squatters."

Meeks leaned back and glanced at his cake before continuing, "I'd built up a rep down there, so usually we'd just let bygones be bygones. When I got back to the surface, everything had changed." Meeks picked up his fork and slowly twirled it in his fingers, "They put me on engineer duty out on the northern defenses. We didn't have much time and the defenses on the northern front weren't finished. Mostly finished, but not entirely. And there was the process of rearranging the mine fields, laying down new mines... blah blah blah."

Loam was staring at the support beam next to Meeks. Loam nodded at the post and said, "Hard work?"

Meeks eyed the beam, then leaned against it to be more in line with Loam's gaze, "Back breaking and pain in the ass, but at least back then our bosses knew what they were doing. Didn't waste people needlessly. Those of us on the work crews got pulled back to reinforce the second line after we finished shoring up the first. When the first fell, they pulled us back to behind the third. We got to throw up all sorts of defenses. Make them slog through every inch of ground."

Loam nodded and looked impressed, "So you designed all that?"

Meeks snorted, "Me? Chaos no. I worked on the road crews. I was lucky I didn't get thrown at the enemy. In fact, they were getting ready to do that."

Loam pulled his head back and some how his cartoonishly huge eyes got even wider in surprise, "So... What happened?"

Meeks pointed at the ceiling, "Zhufor happened. After he took charge and got that gate stuck open on his counter offensive, there was a call to withdraw. We all got in under the void shields and he was getting ready to throw us at the enemy. At the time, the bombardment was getting ramped up and then one day, the void shield went down."

Loam nods, "Oh. Yeah. I remember hearing that. I was hauling... something. I'm lucky didn't get killed in the shelling."

"Exactly." Meeks replied, "Shield was only down for maybe a half hour. But Zhufor was pissed. So he gave the order to his enforcers to get down to the void generators and punish the ones responsible for the void shield's failure. He should have phrased his orders better."

"How so?"

Meeks looked around the repair facility at the scorch marks, holes blasted in the walls, and the stains in the floor that Meeks just couldn't get out, no matter how long he scrubbed, "Well, his enforcers asked who was responsible for maintaining the Void Shield. The manager on duty said, "We all are. It's a team effort."

Loam's jaw dropped open, "Wait... are you saying...?"

Meeks nodded and waited in silence for a good ten seconds before he remembered that Loam couldn't see, "Yes!" He blurted out, "They murdered everyone who worked on the void shield crew. And this is AFTER the incident with the Bacon Jerky. So, suddenly, we're out qualified technicians. The head of maintenance was down there as well. Very very quickly we needed to reorganize. I... claimed to know what I was doing and as the saying goes, 'Fake it until you make it'."

Loam pulled his head back and furrowed his eyebrows, "So... wait... you're in charge because..."

Meeks started turning back to his work station, eyeing his cake, "Because everyone else more qualified is dead and I talk techno-jargon better than anyone. I'm in charge because I bluff well."

Loam nodded, "Ohhhhhhhh... I thought it had something to do with connections or something. You know. Not what you know, who you know?"

Meeks was reaching for the cake then stopped just short, "Well, it can be like that as well."

Loam smiled a bit, "You mean like the squatters you made a relationship with? Since I'm going to be working down in the lower levels where the lights are kinda sketchy and I was wondering-"

Meeks snapped his head to glare at Loam, "Loam. Look. It's lunch. I want to EAT and you have thrown everything off. So unless you want to be assigned duty as reactor shielding-"

Loam threw up his hands and tried to look as innocent as possible, "Whoa whoa whoa! Sorry! I... look Bad time. Just trying to be friendly, ya know?" He stood up and backed up a step, stumbling briefly over a box on the floor before pausing to take out a cane, "Great story. I'll let you get back to lunch." He walked off, tapping the floor as he went.

Meeks just watched, silently, waiting, listening to the tapping until he heard a distant door open and close, indicating Loam had left the area. Meeks pulled his hand away from the cake with a sigh and shook his head, "Dammit."

Meeks reached out for a tool box and flipped it over. He tapped it twice on one side, turned it on its' side, slid the handle to the left and popped open a secret compartment. He took out a greenish, pulsating... thing... while muttering to himself, "I hate this part." and stuck it on the side of his head over his ear.

The world swam for a few moments making Meeks feel like he was going to vomit, then it suddenly settled into place. A staticky, green-tinted face appeared before Meeks's eyes. The Demon Prince Deacon Mamood spoke, "This is an unscheduled contact. I trust you have something important to report?"

Meeks nodded, "Your intel was correct. We do have a spy. The new guy. Loam. Pity. He was damn good at his job."

Mamood's skin seemed to slither about his face in irritation, "Did he discover anything about our mining efforts under the citadel?"

"The conversation was going in that direction. I doubt he knows anything yet, but-" Meeks left the rest of the sentence go unsaid.

"But." Mamood replied succinctly. There was a long pause as Mamood pondered the situation, "I see no need for any subterfuge. Assign him to level 95 and I'll contact the guardians. They'll make sure he has an accident. Don't handle it yourself. I don't want to draw any more attention to you than we already have."

Meeks nodded once, "It will be done." And pulled the green thing off his ear before placing it back in the secret compartment. He carefully put the tool box back exactly where he had it taken it from. Taking a rag, he wiped his ear free of residual slime, before settling down at his work station. Meeks carefully examined it for any sign of anything at all out of place, then finally relaxed his shoulders while exhaling a long breath.

He finally got to eat his cake.

\-----

Entry Date: #ERROR#

To: Security

I am impressed you found someone who had eyes all over AND was sprouting wiggly things. Seriously. Great work. However, a potato is a PLANT, not a person. I should have covered that in the last message, so the blame clearly is on my shoulders.

Please adjust your search parameters accordingly.

\-----

Sigma 43 smiles, "This is just so easy, we can just walk towards the enemy!"

Sergeant delta 22 adjusts his lasgun strap, "good idea sigma lead the charge"

Not five minutes later, sigma 43 and his comrades are blown apart by enemy fire

Delta 22 sighs, "kids these days, they sacrifice so fast"

\-----

Entry Date: #ERROR#

To: Security

You no longer have to look for the guy spray painting rude words on the walls around the Citadel. We found his hand still clutching a can of pray paint next to a half finished message. It appears he was devoured by a pack of cheese. You can close out that particular work ticket.

\-----

Gamma-943 walked through the tunnel, scouting far ahead of the main unit. The series of booby traps in the tunnels so far have caused massive cave ins FAR behind the one triggering the blast, so it paid to have a few solo scouts out ahead to make sure that if there was a trap, it wouldn't get everyone.

Gamma-943 was fine with that. In fact, he was eager to do this. He had gotten sent to Vraks over a year ago. He didn't know that it was politics that caused him to be rerouted through multiple "sanitation" layovers. Boy was he confused when he was asked if he had any fruit he wanted to declare.

So he got here late to the party. The battle was already over. Still, someone had to go into the maze of tunnels under the Citadel. They had to make sure that the tunnels didn't have some sort of cultist cell or something. Every nook had to be checked.

Gamma-943 practically jumped down his commanding officer's throat for the chance. Now he was wandering a series of hand carved tunnels that went down... and down... and down...

He didn't mind. This was what he was trained for. This is what he wanted. He was pumped. He was primed. And little surprise he was caught completely unaware when the butt of a lasgun smashed him in the face.

He came to sometime later. Lasgun pointed at his face. He looked up at the gas mask before him. He blinked and thought, ~Why is a fellow-~ But he cut himself off. It was obvious now, judging by the way his captor's armored uniform was torn open in several places and rotting flesh was exposed underneath.

The both remained still for quite a while. Eventually Gamma-943 started to speak. The rotting guardsman make a quick gesture that was Krieg silent shorthand for silence. Then it pointed its' lasgun at the ground. Gamma-943 turned to look. There was a messenger's satchel lying next to him.

It gestured again, and Gamma-943 slowly picked it up, opened it up, pulled out the first page on top, then started to read it. he just glanced at first, but quickly became transfixed by what he was reading. He looked up to ask, "is this true?" but the rotting guardsman was already down the tunnel and preparing to step out of sight.

It turned to look back. Gamma-943 stared as it held up a device. It was hard to tell in the half light, but it looked like a heavily modified remote detonator. Wires stuck out of it at odd angles. It paused long enough to make a point of letting Gamma-943 see the device, then it turned and disappeared into the darkness.

Gamma-943 was left alone in the tunnel. He would later report the most terrifying part of the encounter was that it didn't make a single sound as it walked, despite how much gravel was underfoot.

Gamma-943 looked into the satchel and found a rusty and corroded shoulder plate. He cleaned it off with his thumb, and stared for a full minute before he shoved it back into the satchel. Throwing it over his shoulder he began to call out for the rest of his squad. He picked up his pace as he went. When he heard a reply from his squad he broke into a run.

He arrived at his squad, breathless. His squad leader was about to chew him out for making noise when Gamma-943 raised a hand and said, "No Time. We have to get out of here. NOW." He coughed then drew in a long breath, "AND we need to get in contact with Lord Inquisitor Rex." He held up the satchel, "Not only does he need to see this, but the rest of these tunnels are all rigged to blow. I suspect we don't have long until this entire area comes crashing down."

The squad leader eyed Gamma-943, then nodded once. Dying didn't bother him, but if the Inquisitor needed this military intelligence, well, they could come back later. You can get more men from Krieg, but you can't always get more information. He gave the signal, and the entire group turned and broke into a march, double time, and proceeded back the way they came.

The rotting guardsman watched from a distance and thought about how long it would take for them to be clear of the tunnels. It figured it wouldn't be long before they made it back up to the safe zone.

It turned and began the long hike back down to the bottom of this maze. Along the way it fingered the detonator. As tempting as it was to set it off now, it knew it couldn't.

It needed to get a warning out. Which is what Gamma-943 was doing right now.

It also had to make sure that The door didn't open in the explosion. It needed to be standing next to said door to be safe.

It picked up the pace letting the distance between it and the other Krieg Guardsmen widen... and widen...

\-----

Entry Date: #ERROR#

To: Security

Last night a security team in hazmat suits took barrels of bacon jerky and several pallets of corpses and were supposed to transport all of it to the Hazardous materials containment area. However, the area in question was being shelled at the time, and it looked like an end to the bombardment was no where in sight.

Instead they found a deep shell crater, dumped everything inside and set it aflame. The odor drifted on the wind to a nearby encampment of Khornite berserkers known as "The Flesh Rippers". This sent them into a cannibalistic frenzy resulting in the death of a 12 man security team by having their skulls chewed off while they were still alive.

Also, we now have a war band of bacon jerky addicted Khornite Berserkers.

So.

That's now a thing.

Apparently.

Let this be a lesson to the rest of you. Do not take short cuts when disposing of hazardous materials.

\-----

Zhofor walked into the room, towering over the crowd as it went silent. He looked at all the mortals and forced a smile. His advisors indicated that he needed to appear more friendly if he was going to get the mortals to throw their lives away for him. He inwardly cursed and thought to himself, ~The things I do for Khorne...~

"Hello Everyone!" He smiled and waved as he walked across the room, "So glad I could attend your ceremony. What is it called again?"

One of the older men spoke up, "It's called a Boy Scout court of honors, lord Zhofor." Zhofor eyed the little man. He was bent and withered with age, his skin was tight against his skull. Zhofor pushed down the urge to grab this weakling by the neck and tear the skull loose. He comforted himself that such a skull was unlikely to be worthy of the skull throne.

"Ah Yes!" Zhofor snapped his fingers, "Of course. Where are the two candidates?"

Two sets of parents stepped forward, each pair had a son wearing a brown shirt with multiple badges on a sash across their chests, "Here!" One called out. As Zhofor walked over, the parents introduced the children as Semeyaza and Felix. Lord Zhofor loomed over them and repeated the names as if trying to memorize them, "Semeyaza and Felix. Well. It's not often there are only two candidates for this sort of thing, but we'll make do."

He put a hand on the back of the head of both of them and directed them up onto the stage. To others it may have seemed encouraging. Zhofor was sizing them up, wondering which one would be a good match for that little space on the skull throne he just can't -=quite=- find the right cranium for.

Lord Zhofor turned them around to face the crowd and then took up a position several feet behind them, "Well. No sense putting this off. Let's get this ceremony going!"

Lord Zhofor raised both his hands towards the crowd as they applauded and cheered. He thought to himself, ~Felix. Definitely Felix.~

The two boys were friends since the day they could walk, both beamed a smile out over the crowd of assembled people. There were so few things to be happy about as of late, so people were glad to have something positive to talk about for a change. The crowd was abuzz with excitement.

Which is why Semeyaza found it odd how everyone in the room abruptly went silent. Felix on the other hand was wondering why the crowd was just staring at the area above and behind them.

A blade with the runes of Khorne and various dark powers carved into it landed with a clatter on the stage between the two boys. They both looked down at it, then slowly up at the one who obviously had thrown it. Lord Zhofor returned the gaze with a soft smile.

There was a long moment in which nothing happened, as the children were visibly confused. They didn't know what to do. Lord Zhofor waited expectantly, then finally spoke, "Well?" He gestured at the blade, "Go on."

There was a pause as long as a single heartbeat.

"Make it quick."

\-----

Time: #ERROR#

To: General

There has been some confusion about how to handle the complaint submitting process. It works like this. First, you press X then speak into the mike. Went you are finished, press return.

A memetic thought form mounts a quoka clad in bright steel armor. It travels paths unknown to light where foliage has forgotten how to bloom. Your complaint is then fed to The MAW. As for what happens to the quoka... well... let's just say a trapdoor opens and he sips the winter wine no more.

The MAW then interprets your complaint based on the Complaint Queue Department mission statement, "Our prey is hope itself and not a single scrap can be allowed to escape our clutches."

Then the request is translated into text and forwarded to CQD.

We hope this clarifies the process.

Thank you for your understanding in these trying times.

\-----

Zekroy the Mekboy's migraine was getting worse.

Zeckroy could never figure that out. No other ork in existence ever got migraines. Orks didn't really feel pain, for the most part. This should include the brain and yet, he got migraines.

He suspected it was that experiment his mentor did on him so long ago. The Warlord Ghazghkull Mag Uruk Thraka ordered a mechcanicus prisoner to reveal tactical information about the titans they were going to be facing. Unfortunately the prisoner committed suicide. Ghazghkull's wanted results and Orkimedes said he could find a way to access the brain.

So Orkimedes ripped the cybernetics from the magos and jammed it into Zekroy's head.

On the upside, it did work. On the downside, the prisoner didn't know anything about titans. On another upside, the cybernetic brain enhancements enhanced Zekroy's mind making him vastly more intelligent. On another downside it altered his personality and perception of reality to the point most other orks thought he was a little too tainted by humans and as such gave him nothing but grief.

And of course... there were the migraines.

Still, it is arguable that Zekroy may be the smartest, if not the most knowledgable Mekboy in the galaxy. It was this ability for Zekroy to figure out the craziest shit that was the reason the Warboss Captain Murder-Murder McMurder of the Rok, Da Big Rok kept him around. Zekroy was the goto ork when ordinary ork battle tactics, like charge the enemy and kill them, fails to get results. The current case in point, a gigantic ball of fused humans warriors from the planet of Krieg that was in pursuit of Da Big Rok.

As it turns out, this ball was also the source of Zekroy's migraine.

Zekroy rubbed his temples as he slowly started to pace, "How... does this thing even exist?"

Captain McMurder slammed his fist down on the control panel on his captain's chair. Unnoticed, a number of weapons on the outside of the rok fired randomly, "Gork damn dis! 'e don' need to know dat! 'E need to destroy it!" He leaned forward and held up a finger like he just got a brilliant idea, "I know... How aboot... Moar Dakka?" He spread his hands and started nodding as if the answer was obvious. The rest of the bridge crew began nodding along. Dakka solves everything.

Zekroy smacked his forehead, "WE TRIED MORE DAKKA!" The Captain started to open his mouth, "AND-" He cut off the captain, "We tried ramming." The captain looked a little confused then opened his mouth to make another suggestion. Again, Zekroy cut him off with an exasperated tone, "And we tried ramming with more dakka."

Zekroy walked up to the main view screen and stared at it, "We're lucky the ram was a glancing blow. They seem mostly unaffected yet we sheered off 12% of the Rok. They somehow managed to cut through three KILOMETERS of armor with..." He gestured at the giant blob of humans, "Shooter mounted choppers?" He threw his hands up in the air and then brought them down to slap against his thighs, "That's why I need to understand this thing. How it even EXISTS!"

A Gretchin chimed in, "Uh.... The Warp Made it!"

Zekroy closed his eyes and felt the migraine get worse.

"yes. yes, the warp made this... thing. But-"

Another gretchin started talking, "The thing is as big as a space hulk."

Zekroy snapped his fingers and thought out loud, "Of course! So... millions of humans... moving through the warp, an entire army. Something happens and like a space hulk, they all get fused together with..." Then his train of thought collapsed, "Something. Just something. What in the name of Mork could-" A long pause, "So, maybe they are still thinking like humans. These are those Krieg guys they're tough and they never back down from a fight they are-" He snapped his fingers again, "Wait! Maybe we're going about this wrong!" he began muttering to himself and writing in the air with a finger.

Nearby one gretchin leaned over to another and whispered, "I like this part." The other nodded and replied, "Whenever he stops making sense he's figured out how to save our asses."

Zekroy started pacing, "You remember when you ordered me to figure out a way to insult that other captain but you didn't want it over the vox so that it looked like HE attacked US?" He snapped his head around at the captain, "Don't you see???"

Captain McMurder was staring back, eyes glazed over, jaw slack, and a long drop of drool slowly growing longer and longer out of the corner of his mouth. Zekroy clicked his tongue, "never mind." Then headed over to navigation. The drop of spittle fell on a button. Somewhere on the ship, a door opened releasing a room full of emergency food squigs.

Zekroy started checking the navigation and found what he was looking for: a lifeless rock of a moon around a gas giant. Perfect. Zekroy grabbed the navigator Gretchin by the shoulders, "Stay on this course until I tell you otherwise. That... thing is gaining on us, but at full burn, we should be able to get there before they overtake us."

The Gretchin blinked, "Uh... this course will have us ram into that moon."

The Captain nodded his head in approval, "I like where dis is goin'."

"Just do it!" Zekroy snapped at the Gretchin, "I need to get a surprise ready and no time to do it. So, you know, the usual." Then turned and ran off the bridge.

The Captain muttered to himself, "Playing squig 'ith a moon. Dey never see dat coming." The Gretchins looked at each other then went back to looking busy by randomly flipping switches they installed just for the purpose of making the captain think they did really important stuff.

...

Three hours later they were getting rather close to the moon. The captain was looking thoughtful. "I bet dah moon will swerve first..." The Gretchins were starting to sweat. Zekroy burst in, "Alrighie!" He pushed the navigator out of the way, "I already launched it, we just need to get out of the way." A few buttons pressed and the Rok started to slowly change course. It was going to be close. They were going to skim that moon.

Zekroy then brought up the rearward facing cameras. The Ball of kriegmen was getting close. This was going to be tight. Drifting into view was a massive ball of cloth with four thrusters on it. Zekroy waited until the ball had gotten far enough away from the rok and went over to communications. He flipped a few switches that sent a high pitched squeal through the vox. Everyone winced for a second. but the effect on the ball of cloth was impressive. The rockets responded to the command and activated. They slowly unfurled the Gigantic, kilometers wide sheet of cloth.

Nothing happened.

Zekroy keep checking the sensors, "C'mon... c'mon... take the bait..." Time passed. Everyone got quiet, waiting. The captain chimed in, "'E could alway try moar dakka." Then the ball started shifting course. Zekroy said a short prayer to Mork and Gork, just to cover his bases then pointed at the navigator, "Hard to port! We're gonna need speed so sling shot us past that gas giant!"

The Gretchin grinned. You never have to tell a gretchin twice to go faster. The Rok made as sharp a turn as a rok could, using the gravity of the gas giant to build up speed. The giant cloth banner's thrusters went to full burn. The giant banner was now headed straight for the moon. The Ball of kriegmen were barreling after it.

As Da Big Rok got closer to the gas giant, the crew could finally see what was on the banner. Upon it was written, 'CPATIN CROKGH IS A COWARD' except that someone took red paint and crossed out 'CPATIN CROKGH' and wrote over it, 'GOD-EMPEROR'.

The Ball of fused Kriegmen barreled right after it.

Zekroy was wincing as he eyed the sensors. He hoped they'd get far enough away, but was going to be tight. The banner landed on the moon, moments later, at a sizable fraction of the speed of light, the warp spawned ball of kriegmen impacted as well. There was a moment where Zekroy thought that there was nothing to worry about, until a sizable chunk of the moon, like a giant cork, popped out the side opposite of the point of impact. At that speed a great deal of heat was generated so the rest of the moon exploded while glowing a bright, bright orange.

A visible shockwave of rolling debris came at the Da Big Rok. As the shockwave closed, sensors revealed it was full of screaming, translucent humanoids, riding the rolling explosion, waving around lasguns with affixed bayonets.

Zekroy dived under a control panel. The rest of the gretchen's glanced at each other then followed suit. The captain just sat there and grinned, "May'e 'ere gonna get a fight aft all!"

The shockwave hit.

The rok shook. Millions of screaming specters shot through the ship and crew. Fortunately, they didn't seem to be able to actually affect anything. After a minute, the blast had past. Zekroy crawled out and stood up, noting how disappointed the captain looked.

Checking the sensors, Zekroy looked surprised, "Surprisingly minor damage. Maybe only... " he looked up, "fifty thousand dead? We're going to need to take some time to repair the Rok, but... I think we're safe."

The bridge crew crawled out of their hiding places and cheered! The Captain stood up and walked over to Zekroy, "I knew the' wuz a reason I Nevah murdered you!" then slapped Zekroy on the back, making Zekroy stumble, "Thanks." He replied, mildly annoyed.

The captain was about to say something. He was taking in a deep breath and looking like he was about to make another one of his infamous bombastic speeches.

At that very moment the doors to the bridge was hit by something HARD. Everyone turned to stare at it as the pounding intensified. Abruptly the bulkhead door buckled and in spilled a few thousand rampaging squigs bouncing around like a tide of rubbery, four-legged piranha.

Zekroy the Mekboy's migraine DEFINITELY got worse.

\-----

Entry Date: #ERROR#

To: General

Due to a bureaucratic error, 93% of washrooms were shut down in the improvised civilian residential blocks. The remaining 7% of the bathrooms were single occupancy washrooms thus provoking extremely long wait times. Unfortunately all of the bathrooms were in citizen only sections of the citadels and anyone who's clearance was "tourist" was unable to access these areas unescorted. Even worse (because things can always get worse), you cannot escort a tourist into a single occupancy washroom.

Because, you know, SINGLE occupancy.

The fatality rate among tourists has reached an unacceptable level.

On top of this, the washrooms were simply not equipped to handle this volume of patronage and several washrooms have been rendered inoperable. Attempts to reopen the other 93% of the washrooms have failed due to a security lock out. This has been complicated by the accidental discharge of several weapons into the individual who locked out all the washrooms. This had to the unfortunate side effect of killing the only person who knew the password to unlock the system.

In the meantime, we all have to live with this new reality. The maintenance department has come up with a bold new strategy to help deal with the problem.

Specifically, a slogan:

If It's Yellow, Let It Mellow.

If It's Brown, Flush It Down.

This should help alleviate some of the strain on the plumbing. Thank you for your compliance during these trying times. We expect to get the washrooms up and running before you know it.

\-----

Lord Inquisitor Rex took a play from the Zulkur Playbook and threw a glass against the wall

"Where were the Gray Knights? The main gate was opened. Demons were flowing out of it in an unstoppable wave. That would have been the ideal time to jump in!" He paused to press both fists against his desk causing it to creak in protest, "Could someone explain why the Gray Knights were not deployed to take the citadel?"

From the shadows a Grey Knight who just teleported in steps out, "We were still oiling up." He then teleported away.

Lord Rex Spun around looking at the empty space, "What?"

The Grey Knight teleported back in, "It takes time to oil my manly space marine pecs, Bro. Important stuff." He teleported away, but then immediately reappeared, "And I'm still working on my hair. I have to let these luscious locks sit in conditioner at least an hour a day." He held up a hand to fluff out his hair for Lord Rex to observe, "Gift from the Emperor's Gene seed. Awesome Hair."

Lord Inquisitor Rex face grew red with rage, until he saw the hair, then his rage dissipated, "Oh. Well. Yeah. That is awesome hair. I get it now."

The grey Knight then lifted his chin to look down at Lord Rex, "We'll jump in at the last minute when we look suitably awesome because the God-Emperor Gene seed makes us unmitigated drama whores." Then teleported away.

Lord Inquisitor Rex stared at the empty space, and sat down with a sigh. He proceeded to spend the rest of the afternoon writing, 'Grey Knight Hector Rex' over and over, putting a little heart over the 'i' every time.

\-----

Entry Date: #ERROR#

To: Security

My bad.

I assumed the person you found had nothing to do with your mission to find the potato. However, when we went back to holding to let him go, it turns out he had chewed his way out of his cell, devoured the entire guard unit, and then burrowed into the living rock using his large, flipper-like paws.

We drew straws and Hans lost and thus went down the tunnel after it. The resulting screams served as a deterrent to pursuit. Especially since they lasted so long.

It seems like you did indeed catch the potato and we let it get away. Again, sorry about dropping the ball. I'll take the heat on this one. Or rather, Hans is going to take the heat on this as we have already arranged the paperwork to place all the blame squarely on his oh-so-cold, dead shoulders.

That Hans. Always taking one for the team.

In the meantime, be on the look out for the Human-Potato hybrid. Zhofor is still hot for a hankering of chips.

\-----

"Oh I'm afraid the laser battery will be quite operational, when your Mechanicus friends arrive..."

~~~

"THAT LASER BEAM IS OPERATIONAL!"

"ITS A TRAP!"

"OUR TITANS CAN'T REPEL FIREPOWER OF THAT MAGNITUDE!"

\-----

Time: #ERROR#

To: Security

Down here in maintenance we've had it with you guys. You are simply going to have to do something about the ceiling squids. We just lost Loam. Loam was a tall guy and easy prey for those things. Frankly I want this to be the last time I hear someone scream as they are dragged into a crawl space, only for said screams to be cut short and replaced with the moist crackling sounds of bones being ground to bits within keratin beaks.

Do you like running water? How about air conditioning? Life becomes chock full of event when an entire Res-Hab's sewage system gets redirected into your office.

GET.

IT.

DONE.

\-----

Lord Inquisitor Hector Rex squinted at High Commander Ortys, "Run that by me again."

High Commander Ortys nodded, "Of course. I'll start at the beginning." He cleared his throat, "Now then, the start of our assault will begin when our men attack these bunkers... here." He stabbed a finger at a point on the map near the pilgrim gate.

Rex scratched his head, "And you are going to drop a plasma warhead on top of the objective to soften it up BEFORE you attack?"

Ortys shook his head, "No No No. We're going to drop a plasma warhead on top of the objective AS my men attack! The superheated plasma will provide cover!" He nodded slowly, "Much more effective than smoke rounds."

Rex stared at Ortys a long time before he spoke, "Won't... bathing your own men in plasma have some..." He rolled his hand in the air, "adverse effects?"

Ainea held up a finger, "There's an old saying, 'Ninjas can't catch you if you are on fire.'"

Rex stared at the finger, "You don't say."

Ortys nodded, "Indeed."

Rex rubbed his brow, "What's next?"

Ortys pointed, "My men will rush forward, used shaped melter charges to burn their way into the bunkers, and slaughter everyone inside. Meanwhile, we can expect the enemy to rain holy hell down on those bunkers as they fall."

Rex eyes darted back and forth, "Annnnnd... what will they do about it?"

Ortys looked a little confused, "Well, they'll shoot back, of course. I mean... duh!" He then dragged a finger across the map, "So they'll run between each bunker, which is about a hundred yards, in less then three seconds or they'll be ripped to shreds."

Rex nodded and started getting a sinking feeling in his stomach, "Right."

Ortys looking all excited continued, "Then I will personally ride up the road in the lead personel carrier of the main assault."

Rex pointed at the map, "And your plans for those walls guns?"

Ortys sighs, "Well, we'll take some potshots at them with the whirlwinds, but with any luck we'll get to use the battle barge!"

Rex blinked, "Excuse me?"

Ortys started speaking louder and slower, "Bat-tel Bar-g-uh. Battle barge. We'll have it drop into low orbit and bombard the gatehouse."

Rex turned white, "Isn't that a little... dangerous?"

Ortys held both hands up at Rex and shook them from side to side, "NAH. He's going to use the small missiles. Merely the size of a city block. Shouldn't be an issue."

Rex rubbed his forehead for a second, "That is where we're going to have a problem. What if the battle barge misses?"

Ortys stared at Rex like he just sprouted a second head, "Beg your pardon?"

Rex straightened up, "The gunner on the battle barge. If he is off by a single degree he could wipe out entire regiments!"

Ortys just stared at Rex for a full minute before he hooked a thumb over his shoulder, "Mike doesn't miss."

Rex rolled his eyes, "Everyone misses eventually!"

Ortys narrowed his eyes at Rex. Time passed. Eventually Ortys spoke, "You came in the grey transport parked out on the tarmac, right?"

At that very moment a series of explosions went off on the tarmac. The whole building shook, but was otherwise unharmed. Rex rushed to the window and watched the rising cloud of dust. As it cleared, it revealed the Lord Inquisitor's transport was still intact. A series of explosions had apparently gone off around it.

Eventually Rex could see that the explosions had created a giant smiley face around Rex's transport, with his transport playing the part of the nose.

Ortys cleared his throat, "Like I said..." He reached forward to pull the string on the window blind. It slid down cutting off the view of the tarmac.

"Mike Doesn't Miss."

\-----

Entry Date: #ERROR#

To: Administration

I have good news and bad news.

The good news is the killer cheese issue has been resolved. The bad news is that it was resolved when the pack accidentally short circuited a control panel for a series of ventilation fans. Every last one appears to have been sucked through the series of said fans. This caused just about every vent on levels 4 through 10 to periodically emit bursts of shredded cheddar over an eighteen minute period last night.

If there ever was a time for a pulsating, organic material absorbing structure in the air filtration system, last night would have been when we needed it most.

I understand a number of the administration's quarters were on level 6.

We will, of course, give cleaning up your apartments a top priority.

\-----

Inquisitorial Archivist Dammer closed the book labeled "The Confession of Epsilon-228". He slowly ran a finger over the old tome. Nearby Lord Inquisitor Navod sat, watching impassively. Eventually Dammer looked up at Navod and...

...said nothing.

After a rather long period of silence, Lord Inquisitor Navod spoke, "You are the one who agreed to this."

Inquisitorial Archivist Dammer let out a long breath and nodded slowly, "Indeed. I brought this down upon myself. I knew there would be knowledge I didn't wish to know, but this..." He gestured to the book then turned back to Navod, "If this is true, then the heart of Segmentum Obscurus could become corrupted at any moment. It hangs by a thread and it is only by the actions of one man-"

Navod interrupted, "One man of Krieg. Do not underestimate the people of that world."

Dammer's eyes slid off of Navod and stared into the distance in contemplation. After a time, he nodded in agreement, "Still... Are there any contingencies?"

Navod shrugged, "We have an inquisitorial outpost that is hidden among the orbital debris. They know what signs to look for and if needed, as a matter of last resort, they will deploy a planet cracker."

Dammer looked shocked, "But the confession-"

Navod held up a hand, "Might be wrong. If it is, then the planet cracker might put an end to the threat once and for all. If Epsilon-228 is right... well... that would be why we haven't deployed the planet cracker... yet." He sighed and leaned back against a towering book shelf filled with dusty books. As it creaked, he contemplated how many secrets were contained here. True, it'd be simpler to keep it all in electronic files, but those could be corrupted. Chaos had demonic computer viruses. No. It was safer to keep such damnable knowledge on hard copy in vaults such as this one.

Dammer leaned back himself, but was no where near as philosophical as his counterpart, "And it will be up to me to decide when... or if... the planet of Vraks could ever be reclaimed... or if I'm just going to kick this down the road even further." He leaned forward, the legs of his chair connecting to the floor far harder than he intended. The sound of contact echoed throughout the vault. Dammer winced briefly before he continued, "You know I have already been approached by interested parties who have offered large sums of wealth and power if I but open up access to Vraks again."

Navod looked into the distance, "Ultimately this is the fault of the Ecclesiarchy."

Dammer looked over, a puzzled expression danced on his face, "I'm sorry. Could you clarify that thought?"

Navod continued to observe the middle distance, "Think about it. Do you think it's a coincidence that the doorway was beneath the citadel? The tunnels beneath the citadel predate anything else. Did Nurgle influence the citadel to be built there? If so, why didn't he act sooner?"

Navod leaned forward in his chair, hunched over, fingers aimlessly moving as he spoke, "Saint Leonis the Blind ended his travels there for a reason. His remains were put there for a reason. I believe that the Ecclesiarchy learned of the doorway and built the shrine to watch over it. However, the 38th millennia wasn't a good time. The age of apostasy had left a bad taste in everyone's mouth. There was a lot of infighting."

Dammer looked at Navod and moved his hand in a rolling motion, hoping to encourage Navod to continue. He didn't need to.

The rest came tumbling out all at once, "Why was that particular shine allowed to raise an army in times of need? What threat might arise that would require that an exception be made? I looked into it but the records are lost, so I can only make assumptions. I think they knew about the door and were protecting it."

Navod's gaze fell to the floor and traveled along the many protective sigils carved there, "So those bastards never told the inquisition. I'm sure they had reasons like, 'the less people there are who know this the better.' but so few people knew about it they forgot why they were on the damn planet in the first place!"

He rubbed his face and suddenly looked old. He was aging right there before Dammer's eyes. The mask was slipping.

Navod took a deep breath, "Why would there exist the ability for that particular shrine to raise an army? Only shrines that predate the age of apostate were allowed to keep that little exception. That age ended in the 36th millennium. The shrine was built in the 38th." Rage started to bleed through Navod's facade.

Navod clenched his teeth as he continued, "I had cause to go to Terra once. While I was there I investigated these questions. Damn I wish I had not. I found the edict unanimously approved by every high lord making an exception for that shrine. But no record of why.

He laughed and looked at the vaulted ceilings so far above they disappeared into darkness, "In the 38th millennium there was a fad. A huge push to update the security protocols. A whole new system of security was developed. That particular edict was classified White-Alpha clearance. I had no idea what that meant. I finally figured it out. It was a pet project by one of the high lords. In petty revenge for some long forgotten slight, the program was approved, but the budget was canceled."

Navod closed his eyes, "To cover up the massive mismanagement boondoggle, all evidence was destroyed. So about 50 years of files were-" He held out his fist then threw his hand up as if throwing a handful of dust into the air, "Poof. The order is enforced but the meaning is lost. The purpose... forgotten."

Dammer raised a hand and moved it over the tome. He left his hand hovering over the confession as if afraid to touch it again. For a moment he felt like something leaped from the book into his very flesh. As if the knowledge inside that book was infectious, leaving him... tainted, "And so the planet was opened up for exploitation."

Navod stood up, leaned over, then scooped up the Confession of Epsilon-228 by sliding it out from under Dammer's hand. Navod cradled the book as he walked away, his robes rustling softly, muffling his foot steps across the cold, stone floor. He approached the shelf where from hence it came and lifted it up to the empty space of its' former cradle.

Dammer noted that the light behind the book shelves streamed through that void, silhouetting Navod's face in the process. The light was yellow and harsh and seemed to age Navod even further. Navod paused, then spoke to Dammer without looking away from the light, "I do not presume to tell you what to do with this information. It is for you to decide. After all-"

Navod slid the book back into place blocking the light...

and in the process...

cast his face into darkness.

"-you are the next lord inquisitor of Segmentum Obscurus."

\-----

Entry Date: #ERROR#

To: Security

Good News!

The jerky addicted Khornite berserkers situation has resolved itself. We were worried that we would be forced to supply the Flesh Rippers with bacon jerky or they would murder us all, but apparently Bacon Jerky when eaten in large quantities causes constipation. Combined with the decreased toilet capacity the Citadel is currently experiencing, This resulted in a frenzy out of frustration among the Flesh Rippers.

It did not last long.

The additional strain on their bowels caused by shouting and elevated blood pressure resulted in abdominal ruptures. This caused internal bleeding, sepsis, and eventually... a rather ignoble end.

Considering how things have been going lately, I'm going to call a bunch of berserkers shitting themselves to death out their belly buttons a "win" and leave it at that.

\-----

[Intercepted vox communication from the citadel ... Cries of pain and death]

Stevenson, chosen traitor astartes "bring the next red hunter here, the dark Gods ritual must continue "

Gortrix, iron warrior traitor astartes: "hold your horns you deprived priest, this one has some nice armor I want to get a better look at" [more cries of horror, cut with the booming of bolt rounds]

S: "it is not for you to delay the needs of the gods"

G: "they don't care about this little boy, but this armor would look better in grey color" [Sounds of power armor parts opening and dropping on something soft] "hey look we have a live one"

S: "why did you think I wanted that loyalist?"

G: " I told you not to use that word " [power armor slap noises More power armor slapping noises ... Chainsword activation noises] "oh look the boy has some life in him"

Bretio red hunter: "traitor filth, I shall deliver the emperor's justice on the lot of you"

[chainsword cutting noises, much pained and gurgling noises]

Lord Arkos: "Zuhfor... I think we have three more skulls for you here"

\-----

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\-----

The distinct, descending whine of a void shield generator powering down was heard over the shouts of technicians hollering for assistance.

This was the third void shield forced off line in the past hour. He couldn't keep cycling them like before. Up until this point there was redundancy to cover the shut downs. This last generator was the last of the back ups. After this, sections of the protective dome over the city would start to fail. Meeks could tie them all together, spread out the damage. It would buy them a few hours, but then when it failed, it was all going to fail at once.

Hard.

Meeks started tapping on his workstation five times for every finger, only twice for the thumbs. It helped to calm him down as well as tune out the man screaming next to him.

"My face! The explosion burned off my face!"

Meeks rolled his eyes and thought to himself, ~We all got problems, mate~. The man with the exposed skull grabbed Meek's shoulder interrupting his tapping. A second later Meeks drove a screwdriver up under the man's chin directly through his mouth and up into the brain. Meeks stared at the man's crispy skin, the flaking flesh. The raw red of singed flesh that surrounded the electrical burn that affected the majority of... of... Dammit it. What was his name again?

The rest of the staff nearby froze and stared at Meeks. They were used to brutality, but not from Meeks. This was new. Meeks looked up and noticed the attention he had gotten, looked at the now dead technician he was holding up by the neck, then let the body fall to the ground. Meeks spotted the guy's name on his overalls as he slumped to the floor.

Meeks cleared his throat, "Naz was a good man. Did good work. Nothing could be done to save him. I'd do the same to any of you." He wiped off his screwdriver on his sleeve, "I expect you to do the same for me." His team looked at Naz on the ground, nodded once, then got back to work.

The void shield generators' vault used to be the safest place on Vraks. Now with the damn things overloading all the time and all spare parts having been exhausted, it had become dangerous as Hell. At any moment the machinery could explode, start arching energy, fluctuate, or any one of a hundred different things that could kill or maim you. The place was huge, by design, so it had catwalks were everywhere. One said catwalk turned into a giant bug zapper and fried Naz.

Frankly, Meeks was impressed the guy made it all the way down to his workstation.

Meeks sat back down and resumed tapping from the beginning before getting back to work. He'd worked out a number of scenarios for just this situation. Sacrifice the less important parts of the surface to give generators over more important buildings time to cool down. Meeks had also noticed that it took time for the Krieg artillery to target any openings. From the time you dropped a void shield, you had about two minutes before they could retarget and concentrate their fire. It took about ten minutes to power a void shield back up from being manually shut down.

Under ideal conditions, of course.

Still, if done correctly, it would be possible to minimize the amount of damage while any one void shield was down. If they cycled through the active shields remaining, it could give them time to fix the back up generators. The trick was to make sure the enemy couldn't determine a pattern. Keep them guessing. Drop a shield here, pop it back up. Make another flicker to get the enemy to refocus on a shield that was strong enough to take the abuse. That sort of thing.

Meeks didn't like this, but he didn't have a choice. He stood up, turned on his mike, and addressed the whole vault at once, "MEN AND WOMEN OF VRAKS!" The microphone whined with feedback. Meeks adjusted it a bit and the voice came through not so loud as he continued.

"I have word that we have lost two gates. You might think this means we have lost. It does not. As I have explained to all of you, there is another way we can win this. We do need more time. So, we're going with operation checkerboard. We only need another day maybe two for Nurgle's plan to kick in. Then anyone loyal to him will be reborn as the world becomes a demon world."

The technicians were all hand picked by Meeks. Anyone not loyal to Nurgle had experienced some unexplained... accidents. They all believed in the cause. They wouldn't have eternal life, but they could have eternal death. Some just nodded. Some prayed to Nurgle. Some shouted, "We're with ya, Meeks!"

Meeks waited for them to settle down before he continued, "You all know your-" The workstation started to flash. He cursed into the microphone, "Damnit! We lost another relay!" He mumbled to himself, "Chaos! I'm going to have to fix it myself." Then spoke into the mike, "You know what to do. I'll get the relay up! You do your jobs until I get back!"

Meeks grabbed his toolbox and headed to access shaft B. Nobody used it. Something happened to people when they used it. Meeks knew the problem was only if you went up. He was going down. All the way down. To level 95.

There wasn't a relay problem on level 95. No relays at all. In fact, the relay was fine. That whole bit was just for show. Meeks had already arranged for a body wearing one of Meeks' overalls would be found burned to a crisp near said relay. His men might be upset, but they believed and they would keep working the plan just as Meeks laid it out.

Of course, Meeks tweaked the plan, as per his master's instructions.

Things were playing out just as Prince Mamood predicted. The major demon summoning had failed. The Khorne leadership would think now was a good time to flee. Unfortunately for them, operation checkerboard had a few mechanical... flaws.

Alas, the void shield over the Khorne leadership's secret escape craft was about to suffer catastrophic failure. Nobody was getting off this planet. Well...

Nobody was getting off it ALIVE, at least.

When Zhufor made his big push to become chief warlord, Mamood had planned for that and made a break for it. Alas, his plans didn't count on the assault being lead by the Alpha Legion.

Excrement impacted with an oscillating blade.

Next thing Mamood knew, he was fleeing deep into the bowels of The Citadel with no way of escaping. That is, until he bumped into Meeks. Conversation was had. Payment exchanged. Meeks never liked Khorne and next thing you know, Mamood was outside in Nurgle held territory.

That's when Mamood became a demon prince.

Mamood needed a man on the inside and Meeks was perfect. Mamood knew Nurgle's end game and he needed Meeks' unique position and set of skills to achieve it. There was a door. It was buried deep below the city. If it is opened, Nurgle himself could step through. The one who opens it will become a demon prince. This transformation will be fueled by the death of everyone within about a hundred miles of the door.

Give or take.

Of course you can't just open a door into Nurgle's domain. if it were that simple it would have happened millennia ago. The way must be prepared. The world must be made pleasing. Fortunately, Nurgle's followers had done a fine job turning the land into a seething, poisonous bog. All that was left was to find the door and open it. Preferably when everyone else, besides Nurgle's loyal followers of course, were within the blast radius.

Mamood didn't need to open the door, not any more. He had already received his reward for services rendered. That meant someone else could open the door and become not unlike a demiurge. Meeks could be that someone. Needless to say Meeks needed to make several pacts before he received the specifics. Just a little insurance that Meeks would not betray Mamood as well as chaining Meeks to Mamood's will.

Meeks was okay with that.

In the imperium, Meeks was already a slave. He had thousands of people who told him what to do. To reduce the sum total of his masters to two? Just Nurgle and Mamood? That sounded like a sweet deal to him. Of course, it meant the betrayal of everyone in the citadel.

But hey...

Details.

Took a long time to figure out where the door was. Well... almost. He had it narrowed down. Meeks wasn't willing to risk someone he couldn't trust finding the door, so he had to use nearly mindless zombies to handle most of the digging. The community under the citadel was bizarre and the strange radiations made it remarkably lethal to the uninvited. But as a worshiper, Meeks was immune to whatever bizarre force was causing reanimation of the dead.

The charm Mamood had given Meeks gave him absolute control over the dead. The problem was they were so stupid they almost always misinterpreted any orders they were given. Ince Meeks ordered a zombie to get ahead of him, and the zombie promptly ripped off the head from another zombie then offered it to him.

That incident was an eye opener.

Meeks needed to be careful. He was supposed to wait for Mamood's order to begin the ritual. Frankly, Meeks wasn't going to wait one second longer then it took to finish the ritual and pop this particular warp zit. Maybe there was a reason to wait, but he waited long enough. The longer he waited, the more likely this was all going to fall apart.

It took him almost a full day to reach the bottom of the giant spiral that descended into the earth. The report that came back from one of his "foremen" indicated they had found the door. Meeks had sent an order down to keep everyone away from that tunnel. Have the workers go mine somewhere else. Put a guard the tunnel. Nobody but Meeks goes in or out.

The confirmation came back up in the strange syntax of the undead. It appeared they were following his wishes, but Meeks could never be quite sure. It always made him feel a wee bit apprehensive.

Still, it seemed at this point things were going well and Meeks wasn't going to waste any more time. He roared down the curving sloping corridor on his scout bike. Keeping that particular piece of equipment hidden had cost Meeks much in the way of bribes, but it was worth every credit. It was fast and small enough to fit down most narrow tunnels. Speed was everything at this point. Arriving at the entrance of the tunnel that lead to the door, he dismounted and surveyed the situation.

He hurried up to the tunnel, but slowed to stop as he got close. No one was there. This put Meeks on edge. He readied his modified lasgun. It ate up energy packs like Meeks scarfed up Algae Food Cake, but when it hit something...

A rock shifted. Meeks leveled his weapon at a shadow. A lone Krieg guardsman stepped out into the half light. It was clear he had been dead for quite a while now. He was standing there just holding a shove.

Meeks shouldered his weapon. He had expected more guards. He rolled his eyes and realized he told them "a guard". As in, ONE guard. No matter. Meeks walked up to the guard and asked, "The doorway you guard. Where is it?"

The Krieg corpse pointed into the darkness. Somewhere far ahead, there was a glittering green light. Meeks pulled out a flashlight and hurried into the darkness. He navigated the corridor heedless of any danger. If he had been a bit more cautious, he might have noticed the pile of corpses hidden in one of the side passages he passed.

As he closed in on the light, he was puzzled by the fact the glow was hidden behind a rock. It seemed smaller than he expected. As he walked around the boulder, he saw a battered lantern wrapped in thin green cloth. Meeks barely had time to realize it was a trap as the shovel came down on the back of his head.

In the dark, Meeks couldn't see that well, but his assailant, being undead, had no such problem. The beating took awhile. The intent was obviously to take him alive, but keeping Meek's legs intact seemed optional.

Meeks came around after a few minutes. The Krieg corpse was standing over him and had already stripped Meeks of most of his valuables. Meeks tried to speak, but his jaw was shattered. All he could do was gurgle. Meeks saw his attacker was flipping through his notes on the ritual.

Meeks would not be denied. He screwed all his rage together into one final push. He would ignore his broken body, leap up, take back his weapon, and put a giant hole inside this thing that dared to try and steal his destiny. This would be his finest hour.

Epsilon-228 effortlessly swung his sharpened shovel and shattered Meek's elbow. He spun it around in his hand then brought it down on the shoulder opposite of that elbow. The crunch of shattering clavicle echoed down the tunnel.

Meeks was effectively now a quadriplegic.

Epsilon-228 has original hoped to lure someone down here with information he could beat out of them, but the documents in this man's duffle bag spelled everything out, clear as day. There was no need to interrogate the prisoner. Epsilon-228 snapped the notebook closed and slipped it back into the newly acquired duffle bag. Somehow Meeks was still alive, screaming and cursing, but physically no threat. Epsilon-228 turned on his heel and walked out.

Meeks cried out for help. No one heard. He screeched a prayer to Nurgle to grant him succor. He begged all the chaos gods for the power to crush his enemies. It would appear none of the ruinous powers were particularly pleased with Meeks at that moment.

Epsilon-228 stepped out of the tunnel, picked up the radio detonator hidden behind a support beam, and gave the handle a sharp twist. A pulse of energy shot down the wires thus triggering the explosives, and crushing Meeks beneath several tons of rubble in the process. The cascade of rubble cut Meeks off mid curse.

~Get in line.~, Epsilon-228 thought.

Epsilon-228 waited until the tremors stopped, placed the detonator in his pack, then proceeded to his base camp next to the actual doorway he had located many weeks before. He was running out of time, but for this, he would make time because it was quite clear.

Epsilon-228 had a great deal of reading to do.

\-----

The inquisitional investigation aide moved onto the next room.

His job was simple. He was to investigate the offices and work spaces of the heretics of Vraks. Someone had to look for information that might lead to other heretics. it was possible to gleam all sorts of useful intelligence from documents. There was one problem.

Chaos Corruption.

So the solution was simple. Take a normal human being, remove his memories. Keep everything else, and replace his memories with mechanicus created memory banks. The investigation aide could read as much chaotic information as he could take, spit out the useful information, and then purge his memory. True, he basically no longer existed as a personality, but there was simply no way for memetic infection to take hold in such a mind.

So. New room. Freshly wiped mind. Time to get to work.

This was a minor officer's office. Out of the way. It had survived the assault and there were quite a number of over turned file cabinets. This would take a while.

So, slowly, the aide picked up, read, analyzed, and filed a copy of everything in his databanks. Nothing of value here. But during the final search, he pulled out one of the drawers and tossed it across the room. Out of the corner of his eyes he spotted something. On the underside was taped a small packet of folded paper.

Thinking it could be useful, he opened up and started to read.

~~~

Today my cat has died.

I have him in my lap. I have kept him alive for over 13 years now. Originally I kept him in my barracks, but when the reinforcements arrived, I moved into my office and brought my cat with me.

Cats keep the rats in line. That's why they are on the planet. Rats get everywhere. They are universal. Where man goes, the rat goes.

But this was MY cat.

I think he got exposed to radiation. Or a chemical attack. He went blind. His teeth fell out. His poo started becoming liquid. But he never slowed down. He was always a fighter. He wanted to live, so I fought to keep him alive.

I would hold him and say, "If you don't give up, I won't give up."

I kept him in my private bathroom. At the end, he was constantly crapping himself. He couldn't use the litter box anymore. When I got hit with a surprise inspection, they almost confiscated the cat, but fortunately the floor was filthy with his shit. He had taken up pacing constantly and when he poo'd on the floor, he'd walk through it over and over. I had to constantly mop the floor with the toilet water.

I hadn't cleaned it that morning. I told the inspectors that it was a shrine to Nurgle and if they had a problem with it, I would bring it up with the plague marines.

The investigator backed down.

My cat was always hungry. I don't think he absorbed much food with his constant diarrhea. I had to go hungry sometimes to get him his food. Getting meat for a cat wasn't easy. I took up trapping rats, but even those got scarce in the end.

One day I walked in and he was just lying on the tile, head half under the blanket. He ate a little, then he just... fell over.

There was a sore on his head. He'd had it for weeks. I had to bathe him constantly to keep him clean, but the sore on his head wouldn't heal. There was a bump under it. I think it was a tumor.

He just... stopped being him.

I held him for hours. All night. As the dawn approached he started... running. Just, lying there and his legs would try to run. He couldn't stand. He just ran and ran and ran and I couldn't do anything. His breathing became labored. I had an oxygen tank that I stole from a corpse to use instead of a gas mask in case of a chemical attack. I knew I'd never get it recharged again, but I didn't care. I put the hose over his mouth and the pure oxygen seemed to make it easier for him to breathe.

I prayed to Nurgle.

Nothing happened.

I prayed to all the chaos gods.

Nothing happened.

I prayed to the god-emperor.

Nothing happened.

I prayed to any demon, to any creature of the warp that I would commit any crime, any abomination, any horror, achieve any goal, sell every part of myself, if you but showed up and saved my cat.

Nothing happened.

He died.

He is dead.

He is in my lap right now as I write this.

I should toss him in the trash and get back to work. I should move on. I have duties. I have responsibilities. I need to do my duty.

I tell Granite that if he doesn't give up, I won't give up.

I ask him to get up. Please. Just get up.

He doesn't get up.

My cat died today.

~~~

The investigator looks over the paper one more time. He turned to look to the bathroom. It takes a great deal of work to force the door open. The smell tells him everything he needs to know. He notes the one human corpse and the animal carcass. A quick sweep reveals nothing of importance except a pistol. Nearby there is a single spent shell on the floor.

He walks out and stands in the hallway. He looks at the paper and for a brief moment, feels a pang of regret. His chest feels tight. There is a moment of sadness and the beginning of an up-welling of pity.

On the cybernetic memory bank sticking out of his skull, a red light turns on. A robotic voice states, "Emotional response detected! Emergency information purge initiated!"

The inquisitional investigation aide stood motionless for 38 seconds before he heard three beeps followed by a chiming voice, "Purge Complete! Proceed to next room!"

The aide pauses to wipe a tear from the corner of his eye. He stares at it curiously on his finger tip, then shrugs and rubs it off on his sleeve.

The inquisitional investigation aide moves onto the next room.

\-----

Time: #ERROR#

To: General

Next week will be the first annual "get to know a mutant" mixer. The event organizers are having some problems with staffing due to Max devolving into a chaos spawn and murdering most of the organizing committee so hard we are still squeegeeing out conference room U.

If anyone would like to volunteer, we are offering a sack of shredded cheddar cheese as compensation. Assuming you can complete your duties without stabbing/devouring anyone, of course.

Also, we need more balls for the ball pit. Plastic ones. Not the steel ones that maintenance brought. Who the hell wants to jump into a pit filled with ball bearings?

\-----

===Begin Final Report===

I am writing this to explain what has happened and how I arrived here. Yes, I know. I should kill myself. It would be the right thing to do. Alas, that option is not available to me. Not any more.

I awoke in a crowd of these... reanimated corpses of the people of Vraks. They exist down here in several different communities. They see me as one of their own, although I have become convinced not a single one of them knows they are undead.

Yes. I am undead.

How am I undead and yet able to ignore the will of Nurgle? Fucked if I know.

However, it has allowed me to move among these "people" and figure out what they are doing down here.

What exactly is the Digging 64th?

Well, after Nurgle got done with them, they all became undead of one sort or another, however, it didn't change them much. They still acted like the simple folk they were. Folk who were digging a spiraling tunnel straight into Hell, but still, simple folk. They actually go through the motions of what they did in life. They "eat" things. Even if those things just fall out later.

The one thing they do is... dig. Some of them run businesses with no apparent purpose.

Ever see a brothel of animated rotting whores? Ever see animated rotting corpses of miners go into a brothel of animated rotting whores?

That is the image that haunts me the most.

It took me several weeks to figure out what happened. I was working in the Hell Vein and I think there was a cave in, or a collapse and then... I woke up down here. I think we tunneled into a deep shaft or something. Not sure.

I was at first worried we had lost, but then people from above came down. Not the usual corpses. Plague Marines. I listened in where I could. It took a while to figure out the war was still on and that the traitors were losing.

I also learned they had a plan.

It took a while to figure it out, their end game. It seems that Nurgle had been here before. There was something buried deep in the earth. A doorway. Once opened, Nurgle could come through and personally own this world.

That's what the digging was all about. Trying to find that doorway. It is apparently why the planet was colonized in the first place, so that someday, eventually, they could bring about the chain of events to result in... this.

I managed to throw a wrench into the works. No one thought a corpse was capable of independent thought, so I very carefully redirected the larger work crews away from where they thought the doorway was and spent my time with a small crew digging to find the door ourselves.

As luck would have it, We did.

I immediately killed the work crew, ordering them into a prepared side tunnel then collapsing it upon them. The problem was, eventually the rest would come looking this way, and collapsing the tunnel would not be enough. I hid it as best I could, then redoubled my efforts to redirect the work crews. I was successful. I even managed to planet explosives all over the area. With one massive radio pulse, I could collapse many a random tunnel down here.

I was afraid it would only delay things and would be a choice of last result.

But now, you have come. I have heard you in the upper tunnels. I managed to trick the other corpses into attacking you in that big cavern. You got most of them.

But there are still many down here. At this point, you'll never get them all... and what is worse... if you go deep enough, you'll succumb as well. Simply put, there is no way to get rid of all of them. Any men you send down here will only make them stronger.

I'm afraid time has run out. I give you this, along with all the maps, reports, and other information I have managed to scavenge over the past few months. Take the information and warn the others. Warn the Lord Inquisitor.

You see, eventually they'll make their way to the doorway. I could collapse all the tunnels and it wouldn't matter. Eventually one of them will dig their way to the doorway. They are like maggots crawling through the corpse of this dead world.

Someone will have to guard the doorway.

When you get clear, I will detonate the explosives. Most of these warrens will collapse. I will stand guard by the door... forever if need be. There is one thing you must do.

Warn the Lord Inquisitor to NEVER use exterminatus on the planet. It has already reached a critical mass of contamination. Anything you do will set off the chain reaction and turn the whole planet over to Nurgle. Don't even think of a planet cracker. If what I read is true, it'll pop open the doorway like a zit. It won't matter if the planet is a cloud of expanding debris, because Nurgle will be able to just pull it back together and reform the planet in his image. It will become a demon world and nothing could stop it.

Well... nothing but time. Eventually this knot will untangle itself, but that may take centuries or even millennia. Someday it may be safe to destroy this place. I don't know. I'm not that smart. I'm just a Krieg soldier. This is all way above me.

I'm sorry. I know I should kill myself, but I can't. This is the only way. I'm writing this because... well... I guess... I want someone to know.

I want someone to know... my confession.

I want someone...

To forgive me.

\- Epsilon-228

===End Final Report===

\-----

Entry Date: #ERROR#

To: Administration

The Followers of Slaanesh have offered us four crates of taco shells.

We have... respectfully... declined.

\-----

Alpha-1 finished his story as the fire finally guttered out.

It was close to midnight and those who were not on guard duty would need to get to bed. If Alpha-1 was in your sector, you knew you were going to be fighting come dawn, so everyone got up and wandered off.

Some walked way smiling, for the rambling story was as humorous as it was impossible.

Some walked away feeling a deep sense of renewed purpose, for the rambling story was as inspiring as it was a saga of unrelenting heroism.

Some walked away feeling chilled to the bone, for they saw the kernel of truth within a cautionary tale.

Some just shrugged and went off to do the job, for the story held no meaning for them at all.

One didn't go anywhere.

When that bend in the trench was final clear and only the sergeant and Alpha-1 remained, they both just sat there, staring at the dying embers.

The sergeant spoke first, "Was any of that true?"

Alpha-1 looked at the fragment of wood he was using to poke at the fire, then threw it into the flames. It slowly started to catch fire, the flames briefly renewing themselves, "The Lord Inquisitor had declared the entire system has been interdicted. I'd be sworn to never to speak of anything that happened on Vraks ever again." He stood up and arched his back, one of the few parts of his body that was still organic. He cracked his neck before he continued, "If any of that did happen, I'd be subject to immediate sanction for violating an edict of the inquisition."

The Sergeant looked away from Alpha-1 and looked at the flickering flames. Alpha-1 stood up and started to leave when the sergeant spoke, "Technically speaking, that didn't answer my question." Alpha-1 pauses, turned to look back over his shoulder at the sergeant, then turned and walked away.

The sergeant sat there a long time, watching the last of the fire begin to gutter out again. Abruptly he stood up and poured a pot of coffee out on the flames, smothering the fire once and for all. He then went off to his bunk to get some sleep.

That night, he would have no dreams.

As for Alpha-1, he eventually returned to the sector command bunker and went to the room he had commandeered for his personal use. In it were a few personal effects and the notes and equipment he needed to conduct the command of his regiment. He sat on his cot and as he had done every night for decades, he reached under his cot to a small box he kept under his spare uniform.

He pulled out a small key and unlocked it. Inside were two shoulder guards. He took out the cleaner of the two and traced his finger over it. Gamma-943. He smiled softly before putting it back. He then took out the second, far more tarnished and abused. He traced a finger over this one as well. Epsilon-228.

He held it as he uttered a prayer to the God-Emperor to grant Epsilon-228 strength through his long trials. He concluded as he had every night since he left that accursed planet.

"If you don't give up, I won't give up."

He replaced the shoulder guard, locked the box, put it under his spare uniform, then reached over and turned out the light.

The darkness was both total and complete.

\-----

===EPILOGUE===

The Ship known as Nullifier slid into geostationary orbit over the ruins of a citadel that was once the capital of the colony world of Vraks. It had been over three thousand years since the Siege of Vraks. Even the TP3 had finally broke down. Most of the structures on the planet had decayed into dust, but one still remained, entombed deep within the crust.

The Lord Inquisitor stepped onto the bridge and walked over to the view screen. The captain nodded once to acknowledge the new presence.

The Lord inquisitor cleared his throat, "I want to thank you once again. I know the Nullifier has many requests for its' presence. Its' cannon is unique and must be in high demand."

The captain kept staring at the readouts, "I read your request and I found it quite... moving." She gestured to a member of the crew and power levels started to build.

The lord inquisitor, "Well. Knowledge of Epsilon-228 has been passed on from lord inquisitor to lord inquisitor in the Obscurus Segmentum for thousands of years. Frankly, it's time his suffering ended."

The Captain did not reply, but instead continued her preparations. Finally she was ready and indicated such to the Lord Inquisitor with a hand gesture.

The Lord Inquisitor walked up to the main view screen and reached out to touch the icon where the planet of Vraks was. He took a deep breath then whispered, "Be at peace, Epsilon-228. Your duty is at an end." He cleared his throat, stepped back, then loudly declared, "Fire when ready."

The captain nodded and her crew went into action. The Blackstone cannon fired a ray of warp nullification that lanced out and burrowed into the planet. Nothing happened in the physical realm, but in the warp, the wall between worlds grew thicker and thicker. Eventually the auspex operator spoke up, "Maximum saturation, captain" The captain responded, "Launch the planet cracker."

The lord inquisitor bowed his head in prayer.

...

Meanwhile, deep below the ruins in a cavern lit only by the green glow of an alien door, stood what was left of Epsilon-228. The multiple millennia had taken away just about everything that was once a man of Krieg.

Periodically things would burrow into the cave and Epsilon-228 would fight them off. Each time he was worn down just a little bit more. When he was not fighting, he just stood there in front of the door. The only thing left of him were bones held together with nothing but the curse of a long dead plague marine and unwavering duty. His pitted and worn fingers held tightly his last remaining weapon, a rusty and long abused shovel.

For the first time since he began this vigil, he felt something new. He felt weakness. He felt the magic holding him together finally fading. It filled him with fear until he noticed the light from the doorway was fading as well. As he felt his strength failing him, he fell to the ground. His boney hand felt vibrations coming from below. In that moment he understood, right before a blast of superheated magma burst up from below vaporizing him and the doorway in a single instant of annihilation.

His final thought was but one word:

"Forgiven."


End file.
